Close Encounters 5
by chezchuckles
Summary: Spy Castle and Beckett's adventures continue in The World Is Not Enough.
1. Chapter 1

**Close Encounters 5: The World Is Not Enough**

* * *

Beckett eased back against the wooden pew beside Castle and felt his palm skimming the material of her dress, seeking her hand. She threaded her arm through his and tangled their fingers together, the heat and strength of his body like a promise.

Before her, Kevin Ryan was staring nervously towards the back of the church, waiting on Jenny to walk down the aisle, and the guests were still murmuring and whispering as they settled in. Castle lifted a finger and stroked the edge of her knee; she gave him her attention with a tilt of her head.

"Hey," he said softly. She could see so much longing in his eyes, so much hope.

Kate leaned forward and pressed her mouth against his, chaste and sweet, lifted her free hand to wipe the lipstick from his skin. Her ring glittered in the golden light, the stone smoky and dark.

"Hey," she said back. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head in denial, but she saw it still.

"Come on," she murmured, squeezing his hand and nudging his shoulder. "It's a beautiful day. I'm happy."

He gave her a smile for that, and it moved from hesitant to fierce the longer she looked at him.

"What do you want?" he said finally, his breath catching on the last word. His hand came up to capture hers, fiddled with her ring. "For your wedding."

"You," she grinned, leaned forward to kiss him once more, lingering.

He hummed and nuzzled her cheek. "I'd be there, of course. I better be the only one you marry, Beckett. But how would you want your wedding? Where - the beach somewhere, a church, a hotel in town? What colors, which people-"

"Castle," she huffed a little, reaching out to snag the lapel of his suit. He looked dashing, sophisticated. "I already had an adorable wedding. It was perfect. I don't need more."

"But what _would_ you want?"

"Really. Nothing," she said earnestly. And truly there was nothing. She was a practical person, always had been. The idea of pageantry and elaborate plans had appealed to her five year old princess self, but she was in her thirties now, and she understood the limitations of his job, the risk and the reward of loving a man like him.

"Nothing," he repeated, frowning a little.

"Let me enjoy Ryan's wedding, will you?" She gave him a soft smile to ease the sting. "Don't make me self-conscious, afraid you're analyzing my celebration of _their_ day as if it's something I should have. I don't need anything more, Rick. I have you. You're what I want."

He brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles, his lashes against his cheeks. Saying all that felt a little silly, a little sentimental, but she'd discovered that sometimes he needed it - sometimes the dramatic declarations were all that got through to him. As if he'd lived so long on the outside of things, peeking in at normal life, that he thought the soap opera drama was the only true thing.

"I love you," she said then, quietly, without the fanfare, and hoped he saw the deeper, more lasting truth of it in her eyes.

* * *

He gave a polite nod and half-smile as the older woman went ahead of them; Kate was at his back trying to smother her laughter. He swatted at her hip and she took his hand, both of them waiting in the aisle as one of Ryan's elderly relatives made her slow way out.

The wedding had been beautiful, really, and he'd turned to look at Kate at one point to see her eyes wet with unshed tears, her smile so bright and wide. How _happy_ she was. For Kevin and Jenny, and happy to share the moment with them, to be there.

The reception was located at a nice place just down the street; most of the guests were walking. It was a strange affair - the beautifully dressed women, the stiff and suited men as they descended the church steps to the sidewalk in the bright sunlight.

Normal life. Everyone talking and meeting new people, introducing themselves. He saw Kate helping the older woman down the steps - while Castle himself had just paused in stunned silence at the top - and he rushed down to lend assistance as well.

The elderly woman patted his arm and took hold, lifting her head in a wizened smile, her lipstick flaking, a ring of powder at her neck. She had rings on every finger and he felt them against his skin. "Thank you, young man."

He gave her a smile back, felt Kate's amusement at the woman's other side. Yeah, she was laughing at him.

"Wasn't that a beautiful wedding, Mrs. Ryan?" Kate said then.

Oh, must be Kevin's grandmother.

"Stunning. Simply stunning. That girl is just right for him. So pretty. They're a good match. Didn't they look good coming down the aisle?"

Castle held back a laugh and merely nodded, let Kate do most of the talking.

"They certainly did. You must be proud."

"Kevin did well," the older woman said, looking like she had set them up herself. "And Jenny has good hips. Lots of strong, healthy babies."

Castle grunted to keep from laughing. "Yes, ma'am. I'm sure."

"Your girl here," Mrs Ryan said, casting a sly look to Kate before squeezing Castle's forearm as they walked. "She could use some fattening up."

"Yes, ma'am," he said solemnly, casting a quick grin of amusement to Kate. "You're certainly right."

Kate narrowed her eyes and he continued.

"But you know," he said, leaning in to Mrs Ryan. "She _is_ a police detective. Pretty strong. She'd be fine, I think."

Kate's gaze only got sharper.

"What is your name, young man?"

"I'm Rick," he said easily, turning his eyes back to the older woman. "Rick Rodgers."

From the corner of his eye, he could see Kate startle. He realized they hadn't agreed on a cover really; he hadn't thought of how social a wedding was, how it required conversation with people that they might actually _know_ or see again sometime. Kate's circle of friends, Kevin's family - Castle needed to come up with something good.

"What a nice strong name," Mrs Ryan said to herself, easing down the last step. "And thank you, kind sir, for your help."

"Do you want us to walk with you down the street?" Kate asked, slowly releasing the woman's hand.

"Oh no, no. I've got a car. Kevin rented it just for me. It should be here any moment now."

"We'll wait with you," Castle said, his arm still held out as Mrs Ryan touched it to maintain her balance.

"Oh, don't worry about me. You guys get going. You want to be first in line for the buffet. This one needs meat. Creamy sauces. Take her quick, before she starves."

Mrs Ryan was pushing on them both, and Kate rolled her eyes a little even as Castle laughed. He reached out and gripped Kate by the elbow, brought her against his side.

"Yes, ma'am. I will. Thank you for a lovely conversation," he said charmingly, and then he leaned over and kissed the older woman's cheek. "See you at the reception, Mrs. Ryan."

"Are you sure about leaving you here?" Kate asked, hesitating even as she kissed Mrs Ryan good-bye as well.

"I'm very sure. Go on. There's cheesecake for desert as well."

So Castle took Kate by the hand and they began the walk down to the reception.

* * *

"You really can't do that," he murmured behind her. His mouth was at her ear and the sound of his voice shivered down her spine, curled heat in her belly. She was standing in line at the dessert table, had just turned to find their seats once more when he'd surprised her.

"Do what?" she breathed. She turned to find him practically cradling her, his hands already slipping around her waist and then skimming her elbows to catch her plate.

"Make those noises," he whispered, kissing the skin right behind her ear. "I know what those noises mean."

"I like chocolate," she grinned. "Can't help it."

"I'm going out and buying chocolate sauce, drizzling it all over-"

"Hush," she laughed, but her cheeks flushed at the mental image he'd painted so vividly in her mind. "Save it for later, Rick. For when I get back from training." Something to look forward to.

He hummed at her and suddenly snatched the plate from her hands, causing her to protest and go after him, laughing as he held it out of her reach.

"Give me my cheesecake," she called after him, gathering the material of her dress in one hand to keep the skirt from constricting her movements. He grinned at her over his shoulder and she caught up to him at their table, liberating her chocolate cheesecake with a huff.

She started to turn her back, but Castle grabbed a fork and dived in, cutting himself a big bite and shoveling it into his mouth as she stared slack-jawed at him. Her super spy had just _inhaled_ most of it without even a second's pause.

"Gotta be faster, Beckett."

"You ate _half_ of my cheesecake, you big bully."

"Too bad for you," he shrugged, his mouth still full, licking his lips.

She narrowed her eyes at him but saw they'd attracted attention from the people sitting at tables around theirs. Lanie was separating herself from the crowd and coming towards them.

"Girlfriend, you and lover boy need to cool it."

Kate pressed her lips together on a blush but Castle only grinned at her, his eyes crinkling up so that he looked like a new man. Someone freer. Someone able to tease his fiancee at a wedding and steal her cheesecake.

"You're just jealous," Castle said to Lanie, sliding his arm around Kate and leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She vaguely tasted cheesecake on him but elbowed him aside as Lanie rolled her eyes.

"Ignore him," Kate laughed, putting her dessert plate on the table and holding her arms out to her friend.

Lanie embraced her tightly, whispering in her ear. "He's a good one." When she pulled back, she turned and narrowed her eyes at Castle. "So, Rick - been hearing a lot about you."

"Uh-oh," Castle muttered, casting a glance to Kate with a little wink. "Don't believe her. It's all lies."

Kate burst into laughter, couldn't help it, and Castle shot her a crooked, happy smile. She shook her head at him and gestured to Lanie. "I've told her everything. She knows."

"Yeah, and what exactly am I supposed to call you?" Lanie said, crossing her arms. "Kevin just stutters when I mention you and Javi looks like he wants to throttle you."

"For the sake of the people here," he said. "I'm Rick Rodgers. I'm - uh - still coming up with the rest, so just say you don't know much about me. If you're asked."

Kate looped her arm through his and nudged her hip against him until he turned to look at her. His face was back to that closed-off hesitance, but she thought she could bring out the smile again.

"It's fun," she said softly, then gave her friend a smile. "I like showing him off."

"Like man candy," Lanie purred, winking at Rick.

Kate felt him startle - and nothing usually got him - and then she heard his rich laughter again, saw he was grinning unabashedly at her friend. Good. He felt at home here; that was important because _he_ was important.

Her best friend and her almost-husband - they approved of each other.

"Come on, man candy," she said with a smile, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "I need another piece of cheesecake. Lanie, you coming?"

"I would never say no to cheesecake."

Lanie led the way and Kate pulled Castle after her to the dessert table. But he leaned in, his lips at her ear again. "I'd never say no to you."

* * *

Castle found himself inventing a cover as he went along, working the room as Beckett got roped into pictures with the precinct family. Mrs Ryan caught him by the elbow and dragged him along, introducing him to a group of elderly women at a back table. _This is_ _the detective's man._

He sat down with them and let them twitter around him, telling stories on the black sheep of the family, interrogating Castle himself like a pro. He invented as little as he could, fielding questions only to turn them around, asking about their lives when he was stumped on his own. He realized he was talking about the wolfdog he'd bought Kate, that he was telling them about their night in on New Year's, that he actually was giving out more information than he'd meant to.

Mrs Ryan seemed proud of his performance, almost like she'd invented him herself, and he supposed not a lot of people gave them much attention or time. He didn't mind sitting with them and watching Kate smile from across the room, her eyes seeking his, even as he told a story about finding Sasha and Kate curled up together on the couch.

"When do you plan on marrying that girl?" Mrs Ryan's friend said, an even older woman with hair that was decidedly blue. "I saw that ring on her finger."

Castle grinned and gave the group a shrug. "Soon as she lets me."

"She's the hold up?" another asked.

"Oh, no, ma'am. Not a hold up." He grinned and saw Kate across the long ballroom posing with Espo and Ryan in front of the chocolate fountain. "Just want it to be perfect."

_"_Oh, you and Kate make such a beautiful pair, so striking," Mrs Ryan sighed happily. "When my Bobby was alive, the two of us would paint the town."

He listened to Mrs Ryan's fond memories of her time with her husband, and he watched the line and angle of Kate's body in her dress, warm sun shining through the windows and liming her hair, her eyelashes, so that her presence seemed more radiant than the bride.

He loved her so much it was an ache.

* * *

She gave him a look when he held his hand out for her, but she came nevertheless, letting him pull her against his chest and ease her out to the dance floor.

Castle sighed and felt the whole social scene fall away, the sense of manners and propriety and being on his toes. He'd told a lot of lies at Ryan's wedding tonight, and always he caught her smirking at him, but the lies were necessary for their safety.

"So," she hummed against his neck, swaying to the music. Her lips were soft as they brushed over his skin. "From sports agent to the UN?"

He sighed. "I had to give them something."

"Saying you work for the UN doesn't exactly stop the questions," she laughed.

"No, well. Sports agent was a joke between Eastman and myself. I'm terrible at that cover. I don't have time for sports and I guess that's something guys usually get from their dad? I don't know."

She fluttered her fingers at his neck. "I learned from my dad," she agreed softly. "But the UN?"

"It's right here in the city. It requires travel. They already have a staff on-site who will route inquiries back to us."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and - this is stupid, but. . ."

She hummed a question into his cheek, so tall in these shoes, and he skimmed his hand up and down her back. "Rick?"

"I had to have a cover identity to adopt that damn dog."

She laughed brightly at his ear, her voice like bubbles popping and fizzing, the champagne of her amusement. "Oh, Castle. Really?"

"I had to send in an application and have references and - I used your dad and my mother."

"Your mother?"

"It didn't go so well," he reported darkly.

She cupped her fingers at his nape and curled her fingers through the short hairs there. "Give her time. It'll come."

He sighed and fit her closer against him; he realized he'd slid his knee between hers and she was breathing out softly and resting there, one hand under his jacket and pressing into his back.

"It's just the cover story I made for the dog," he said finally.

"I kinda love that you're telling everyone the story you had to make up for our dog."

He gave a little laugh and nuzzled her nose with his, kissed her under her closed eye.

"What else, Castle?"

"Well, as you heard, it's Rodgers. So don't let anyone hear you, huh?"

"Yes, sir," she murmured, deliciously decadent in his ear. "Richard Rodgers. Hmm, I like it."

"I work as a translator at the UN. There's even a number to call. The address I gave is yours-"

"Better be," she muttered, but she was still laughing a little.

"And I tell everyone I meet that you're engaged to marry me," he finished.

She gasped a little at that, pressed her body closer to his, her hand gripping his neck. "Oh, yes."

He smiled into the bright light of the ball room, the dazzling decorations and the soft music, and her body - oh, Kate Beckett's body aligned with his.

"They keep asking if we've set a date," he murmured. "But I can't give them one, Kate. I can't give you one either, and I'm so sorry-"

"Rick," she murmured, shaking her head against his cheek.

"I want you to marry _me_. Not Richard Rodgers. Not some damn cover story. Me. But I - I don't know when that will be possible."

"We'll figure it out. And Rodgers isn't a cover story, baby. That's your real name."

"Not anymore."

She soothed him with her fingers against his nape. "Okay, all right. Castle. I don't care when we get married. That you asked is enough. The wedding in Italy - beautiful. That's all I need."

But he wanted to give her so much. A huge wedding in New York with all her family and friends, with a groom who could stand up beside her in public.

But it might never be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Close Encounters 5**

* * *

Kate picked up the duffle bag and shook it, making her clothes settle towards the bottom. She pushed a sweatshirt inside and quickly zipped it up, had to strain to get it closed.

There. Everything packed.

She missed her gun. Stupid, but she did. Badly. At least training included the range and sniper instruction and that kind of thing. She was ready for some work, ready to be tossed around and take a few punches and run miles. Ready to be a help and not a hindrance.

"You ready?" Castle called from the doorway.

Beckett lifted her head to smile at him, saw the dog at his side. She bent over and snapped her fingers and Sasha came, nosing into her hand for some love. Kate petted her, stroked the fur between her ears and down her back, and then she stood and hoisted the bag over her shoulder.

Castle took it from her at the door to their bedroom, carried it down the hall. Their hips bumped as the dog pushed past them to flop at the front door, blocking the way.

"She doesn't want you to go," Castle said softly. "Neither do I."

"I have to go," she laughed, shaking her head at him. "A month is all. Six weeks if I can make it."

"You'll make it," he said morosely, giving her a sad look. He dropped her bag to the floor and wrapped his arms around her, but she wriggled out, pushed him away.

"Don't be like that," she laughed. "Come on. You're the super spy. Man up."

He growled at her and snagged her by the neck for a kiss, rough and punishing. Much better. Sappy and clingy just wasn't him at all. His teeth bit her bottom lip and drew blood, and she gripped his ear, his shoulder, pulled him away.

She licked her lip, tasting salt and metal, and eyed him.

"We have time," she said quickly. "If you hurry."

"I can hurry," he rasped. "Can you?"

"Do that thing with your knee and I'm good."

He was already pushing his leg between hers, dragging her higher, and she rocked against his thigh, halfway there already. Castle snagged her mouth with his, circled his tongue over the place he'd marked her, and she twisted her fingers into his shirt, wanting it off.

"No time for that," he muttered. "Car gets here in fifteen minutes."

Fifteen? Oh, not enough time - not nearly enough-

And then he hooked his arms at her thighs and carried her back to the bedroom.

* * *

Richard Castle waited until Beckett had been at Langley for only two days before he confronted his father at the Office. Black had come after Beckett at the airport, and the man had to pay for that.

"We had a deal," Castle started, pushing the door open so hard that it bounced off the back wall. He stopped it with his palm and stared at his father behind the desk.

Black laced his fingers together and watched him, impassive and immobile. Studying. "We did. You're correct. And you broke our deal. So I came to remind you."

"You aren't to talk to her - you aren't to touch her-"

"You - Richard - were supposed to be doing your job."

"I _was_ doing my-"

"You were taking jaunts around the European continent like the world is one large playground. You were running her through rookie assignments, holding her hand. That's not your job."

"I said together. I said we'd do it together."

"Did I put up a fight?" Black said roughly, cutting into Castle's tirade. "Get a hold of yourself. You're an agent, not a lovesick fool."

He flared his nostrils but he reined himself in, pressed his hands into fists. "I told you. We would do it together. She goes with me. Partners."

"Partners doing _your_ job. Not both of you acting like green field agents. I don't need another recruit, Richard. I need you doing the work assigned to you."

He rocked back on his heels, squeezed his fists so tightly he could feel his short nails digging into his palms. "I decide-"

"You don't."

"She's my responsibility-"

"I have no doubt of that. You want her in the field, then you take her with you on your assignments. Your territory. You already gave up an undercover, two-year, long-range mission in Cairo. We needed you there. Your country needed you there. But you spent that time with her. Now it's time for her to make some sacrifices."

He didn't know what to say to that, to the man sitting so unmoved behind his desk, eyeing Castle dispassionately. Damn it. His father's calm and his logic had always gotten the better of Castle.

"She's at Langley now," Castle said quietly, injecting steel into his voice even though he had nothing to be firm about. He was capitulating. His father had done it again - placing himself in Castle's line of sight at the airport and talking to Beckett. Pushing all of Richard's buttons, arranging things so that Castle would allow Beckett with him on the more complicated assignments. "She's doing the six weeks-"

"We don't have six weeks. I've already slotted her back to the four week, SERE training module. If she fails, she fails. If she doesn't, she goes out with you to Copenhagen."

Castle gritted his teeth. SERE? Shit. "Survival training through SERE involves water-boarding."

"Simulated."

He pressed his thumbs into his eyebrows and tried to breathe through it. He'd been trying to avoid the worst of the training for her, but if she was coming with him on his missions, she might need it. Damn it. "The four week program doesn't allow for carrying. She won't be armed."

"That's for you to deal with."

"She needs a weapon, Black."

"No, she doesn't. We have plenty of agents who aren't qualified to carry while on assignment. She has you for back-up. Partners, right?"

He growled and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, kept it together. "Yes, sir." He'd arm her himself.

"Fine. Are we clear?"

"We're clear."

"Then you're dismissed."

Castle's feet were taking him out the door before he even realized that he hadn't been in control of that conversation from the beginning. Not one bit of it.

His father had gotten exactly what he wanted - all over again.

* * *

Maybe it was because his father had orchestrated things exactly as he wanted them and Castle was so damn tired of toeing the line, or maybe it was because he missed her and wanted to make it special for her - this life they were living together - but whatever the reason, Castle booked the tickets.

Cyprus. He'd never been.

One of the flew places in the world that he'd never set foot in.

Castle pushed back the desk chair and Sasha huffed, getting out of the way. He turned around and stroked the dog's ears, smiling into her sleepy face, and then he realized.

He needed to call Carrie; the dog would have to stay with her, and Kate wouldn't get a chance to even see Sasha before they left.

"Sorry, girl," he murmured, kneeling on the floor to rub her neck, brush down the fur on her back. "I know. But you'll have a friend at Carrie's. Not that you need friends."

Still their lone wolf.

Cyprus.

Could they board the dog for an international flight?

* * *

Carrie talked him out of it.

Castle stood at the foot of her porch, his coat hunched around his ears, and watched Carrie lead Sasha back inside the house.

Fuck, that hurt.

No wonder he'd never had a dog before. This was brutal. Sasha's eyes had been sad as Castle had clipped the leash to her collar and left her with Carrie. Even still, Carrie couldn't drag the dog past the door. Sasha had her nose to the glass and was watching him.

Shit. Did it never get better?

His hands were numb and he shoved them into his coat pockets, realized _one_ of them was going to have to turn and leave, and it wasn't going to be the damn, adoring dog.

Castle growled and turned on his heel, made for his Land Rover parked in the drive.

Why the hell had he gotten Beckett a dog?

He should've gone with a fish.

* * *

Kate scraped a hand through her hair and peered at the departure board inside Dulles International. Her flight home to New York was scheduled for nine-eighteen this morning and she wasn't sure she was going to make it. She found it listed on the monitor and sighed.

Shit. The farthest terminal away. Of course.

She twisted around to head for the transit line and dodged people as she hustled. She had fifteen minutes and she just didn't see it going her way.

She just really wanted to go home.

She missed her apartment and the smell of her soap; she wanted to stretch out in her bed and let her arms never touch the ends; she craved real coffee.

And him. She wanted him - in her apartment, smelling of her soap, in her bed, the warm body that prevented her from stretching out, and bringing her coffee.

Him.

And the damn dog.

Beckett felt the ache in her shoulders as she shifted the pack on her back, darting around a slow older woman who was waddling rather than walking. Her lungs still burned with exertion and she had to bypass a group of college-aged kids with their faces down to their phones just to get on the conveyor walkway. Her speed picked up and she glanced at the clock overhead, sucking in a deeper breath that licked fire.

She was grateful that she carried very little. Physical training had been fun, actually, until the round of torture survival techniques, and the academics had been interesting: maintaining a cover ID, how to spot a liar, government policies, and international repercussions. She had been given only a week on the range, and when that had been over, she'd been told she still wasn't qualified to carry. That bothered her, but when she got back to New York, she'd keep her personal weapon on her no matter what they said.

Castle had said there'd be a six-week course, but she'd graduated after only four, and she wasn't entirely confident of her mental agility when it came to all the procedures - the rules of being an operative in a foreign territory. At least she had Castle for that.

The water-boarding had been a joke until it wasn't. She had nightmares now where her car plunged into the Hudson River and she couldn't escape; the water filled up and swallowed her, tore through her lungs until every breath was a flame.

She wasn't going to let herself think about it any more. It was done. She wished Castle had warned her, but then again, maybe not.

Beckett scraped her hair back again and checked the time as the clock passed. No watch - that irritated her more than she could say. No ring either - she'd had to leave it at home with him. No personal effects. Just training clothes and toiletries. She was so ready to be home.

She really wanted to get home.

Beckett reached the platform and hopped on the tram the second before the doors closed. She leaned back against the pole, watched the lighted display that showed where they were. Her terminal was all the way at the other end, and she'd have to wait through every stop.

She took a moment to breathe, to gather herself in the short time she had. If she missed her flight, she'd just take the next one out. It was fine. She'd be home today regardless.

When the doors finally opened, Beckett walked quickly towards the concourse, ignoring the other passengers and trying her best to make it. She just wanted to make it. She didn't believe in signs or omens or anything, but she just needed to make that flight.

She stumbled to a stop at the gate and caught her breath, her heart sinking.

The doors were closed. The plane wasn't there.

She groaned and rubbed a hand down her face. Maybe the flight had been switched to a different gate. That happened sometimes. She'd once had to run between three different terminals at O'Hare.

Beckett turned to look for the Departure board, but she stumbled straight into a passenger, the wind knocked out of her at the collision. "Sorry-"

He grinned.

"Castle?"

"Hey, sweetheart, you could look a little happier to see me."

She threw her arms around him and practically dragged him to the ground with the weight of her embrace, laughing as he tried to hug her back with the bag in the way. His arms were tight bands at her back and shoulders, and she sealed her mouth against his and pushed her tongue inside, stroking hard.

He groaned and squeezed her harder, dragging her up his body, his knee pressing between her thighs. She was on her tiptoes to get at him - the feel of him was bliss - and his mouth was ravenous and furious and joyfull all at the same time.

She cupped his cheeks as she pulled away to look at him, grinning widely at the smudged smirk he had.

"I am _so very_ happy to see you," she murmured.

He leaned in and softly kissed her jaw, nuzzling his cheek to hers.

"But what are you doing here?" she laughed, nipping with her teeth at his chin.

"I have a surprise."

"You are a surprise."

"More than that. Our first assignment starts. . .now."

"Now?" she cried, dipped her forehead to his shoulder. She wanted to go _home._

"It's called Operation: Honeymoon."

Opera-

"What?" She jerked up and looked at him, mouth falling open, and he grinned back and kissed her again, his fingers at her coat and slipping inside to her shirt.

"I booked us a honeymoon. We leave in an hour and a half, Kate."

She sucked in a breath and stared at him, took the kiss he nudged into her again, and finally found her voice.

"Our honeymoon," she laughed. "So where's my ring, super spy?"

"Right here," he said quietly, and he pushed her back just enough to uncurl his fist and show her.

He was wearing it on a chain around his neck.

* * *

Castle guided her down to their gate and sat in the uncomfortable chairs; Kate stared at him a moment like she still couldn't get over him, and then she leaned over and plucked the ring from around his neck.

"Can I have this back?" she said slyly, putting a hand on his knee as she balanced over him.

He caught her wrist with his finger and thumb, stared up at her. Her face was bare of make-up except for a little eyeliner, and yet she looked about as seductive and devastating as he'd ever seen her.

"You want it - you gotta take it," he murmured, enjoying the show.

Kate laughed and eased forward to press her mouth against his, slowly and with heat, her tongue skimming his lips and staying away from all the places he wanted her.

Suddenly she tugged away and the silver chain was over his head and she had it in her hand, smirking. She rolled the ring between her forefinger and thumb, sat down in the seat beside him.

"You don't wanna put it on me?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

Castle put his elbow on the armrest so he could lift his hand to her cheek, stroke her hair back from her face. She looked good. Healthier than he'd seen her in a long time, despite what he knew she must've endured in SERE training. Her skin had color to it, her cheeks weren't quite so severe, and the dark circles were gone from under her eyes.

No one else he knew had ever looked _more_ well-rested after Langley training. Only Kate.

She nudged her chin into the cup made of his palm and he brushed his thumb over her lips. "Yeah, I want to put it on you," he said finally.

She slipped her hand into his and brought it down over her lap, let the silver chain snake into his open palm. When the ring touched his skin, it was already warm from her holding it.

He unclasped the chain and slid the ring off, took her left hand in his. Her finger lifted to help, but he only held her a moment, raised his eyes to look at her. She met his gaze and instead of the seriousness he'd expected, she was laughing silently, amusement in every line of her body.

And that was so much better.

He slid the ring home and leaned over the armrest to kiss her softly. So softly, like the beautiful thing she was.

* * *

Kate fingered his chin, stroking the scrape of his scruff where he'd missed a spot shaving. She watched him study her, the ring now where it belonged, and he tilted his head to kiss the base of her thumb.

"Missed you," she said first, because she could see it in his eyes and somehow, some way, she knew she'd given him the impression that it wasn't okay to be sentimental about them. "Missed you a lot, super spy."

He gave her a wide smile for that, another quick kiss, and then he took her hand and squeezed. "Yeah, ditto. Me and Sasha pined away in the apartment."

"Oh-ho, I doubt it," she laughed. "That dog only needs you."

He shook his head, but he looked a little sheepish. Oh, yeah. He knew.

"Where is Sasha?" she asked. "With Carrie?"

"Yeah. I dropped her off yesterday and caught a flight here. She looked kinda resentful when I left her."

Kate squeezed his hand, glanced over her shoulder as the PA system crackled to life. The gate agent was speaking close to the mic, and it was garbled, but it seemed they were finally boarding. She turned back to Castle. "Well, you knew we'd have to leave her a lot. How long this time?"

He sighed and stood up, grabbing her bag and his own; she took hers from him and followed him towards the gate.

"Probably only a few weeks. Three at the most."

"How long do we have in - wait. Where exactly are we going on our honeymoon?" she laughed. She hadn't realized she'd not even asked him. She'd just - gone with it. Thrilled he was taking her away, happy to have him close. It wasn't her own apartment, but a lot of places could be home if he was there.

Castle turned back to her with a plotting grin. "Since it's not like I can keep it a secret for much longer - we're going to Cyprus."

"Oh, wow."

"It'll be warm - low to mid sixties. The house I rented is right on the beach, has a heated pool. I packed you a swimsuit."

She startled and narrowed her eyes at him as it dawned on her. "You packed for me."

"Well. . .yes."

She sighed. "What did you pack, Castle? Please tell me there's something appropriate in it."

"Not at all. It's all sexy lingerie and scanty scraps of-"

She shoved him hard, and apparently he wasn't expecting that kind of strength from her, because he veered off course and she had to clutch his elbow to keep him from plowing into other passengers. He righted himself and bumped her shoulder in retaliation, caught her by the arm. She grinned at him, shaking her head.

"Naw," he said finally. "I just dumped a couple of drawers of stuff in your suitcase and I'm crossing my fingers they work."

"Castle," she huffed.

He grinned again and wriggled his eyebrows. "Kidding, Kate. Just kidding. You know me. I got skills. You have the perfect wardrobe for Cyprus and - beyond."

"Oh, beyond," she murmured, approaching the gate agent with the boarding pass he'd given her. "That's what I'm most looking forward to."

When they were on the jetway, he took her hand and leaned in over her shoulder, walking so very close that she could feel the heat of him.

"Kate Beckett, give me one night in Cyprus and I'll knock _beyond _clear out of your memory."

Her body flashed with heat and she turned her cheek to give him an awkward kiss as they walked. "I'm counting on it."


	3. Chapter 3

**Close Encounters 5**

* * *

"I don't know how you can possibly afford this," she murmured.

"Beckett," he laughed, drawing his arm around her waist. "I make more than enough, I never spend it on anything - there's no time, and my investment portfolio is enviable."

She startled, his words and the landscape so strange in confluence. They stood in front of the private villa he'd rented for the week on the island of Cyprus and nestled in the Aphrodite Hills near the southern city of Paphos. The architecture was the smooth two-tone stucco and the exposed wooden beams formed the upstairs balcony while mosaics laid in tile made a walkway to the front door.

"Your investment portfolio," she said slowly, the taste of salt air on her tongue. The sun was warm on her cheeks and gave heat to her jacket.

"Well, helps that I. . .influence the world market," he murmured.

Kate laughed and finally tore her gaze from the mirror of the sapphire sea, the range of cedar, pine, and Italian cypress that rolled across the hills and met the water in an embrace.

Castle was watching her. "You like it?" he said softly.

She opened her mouth but could only stare at him, wordless. It was too much.

His smile was slow and drugging when it came, an easy thing that encompassed his whole face and made his eyes the same azure as the ocean. His cheeks and chin could be the Aphrodite hills, his hair the graceful brush of conifer.

She wanted to love him, trace her hands over the topography of his body, be the cartographer entrusted with the boundaries and contours of him, memorizing his lines and planes until she could close her eyes and draw him fully formed.

"Rick," she got out, stepping into the shadow of him.

He tilted his head down to look at her, brushed her hair back and skimmed his thumb under her eye.

"Rick, I want you."

* * *

He burned, every movement an agony until he could have her.

She'd boldly staked her claim over him outside, but now she was drifting her hand over the wall, slowly exploring the villa room by room, taking in the sight from every window, appreciating the moment and the scene and the time he'd taken to do this.

And he was glad; he was. He wanted her to roam, to have the freedom here to do as she liked. The villas on either side of them were unoccupied and theirs was perched on the side of the foothills overlooking the sea. They'd have no neighbors and no tourists below to worry about.

But he wanted her to touch him; he wanted her to have him.

He wanted to be claimed.

He'd never wanted a woman like this before, never needed quite so much, never enjoyed the rise of her body over his and the way her eyes fell into him like drowning.

"Kate," he said finally. She turned to look at him over her shoulder. He'd already put their luggage in the master bedroom upstairs with the amazing overlook balcony, and now here she stood in the living room, the sliding glass door open to the back patio and the infinity pool that looked like it would drop right over the side of the mountain.

She was the most beautiful thing in sight.

"Let's go swimming," she said, her face drifting into a smile.

"What?" Swimming. No, he wanted to _touch_-

"Come on. You packed me a swimsuit. I want to see what it is. I want to wear it for you and dive into that pool and come up, wet and-"

He took the last few strides to reach her, pressed his mouth hard over hers to stop the silky flood of words from her throat. She hummed and her hands were immediately under his shirt, her lips opening to let him inside. Castle stroked against her teeth, curled at her tongue to ellicit that full-body shiver, and then she was right there with him, giving it back.

He put his palm to her lower back and shifted his knee between her thighs and rocked her hard against him.

"Oh, oh, wait." She moaned and pulled back, their mouths popping wetly, her eyes focusing slowly on him. "Wait. In the water. I want you in the water, Castle. The feel of you."

He groaned and dropped his head to her shoulder, his hands clenching her narrow waist too tightly.

* * *

What the hell had he bought for her?

It was white, a two piece, the bikini top a narrow X over her breasts and upper ribs, the bottoms a thick band around her waist.

She could already sense how hot he'd be for her, and it was just the damn swimsuit.

Beckett shoved her sunglasses onto her face to keep the want from leaking out of her eyes and doing damage before they could even get into that cool, mesmerizing pool. She grabbed a towel from the linen closet and carried it down the hallway, listening for him.

Castle had changed quickly and avoided her as she'd slowly unpacked her suitcase; she knew why when she saw what he'd packed for her.

A few of her favorite shirts, a dress she remembered him loving, but mostly all new items - thin blouses with delicate pearl buttons in jewel colors, skirts with small prints or bold designs, a handful of things currently in fashion - all of it appropriate more for a model than a spy - or a detective.

When she'd gotten to the three different swimsuits he'd packed, she only recognized one - her modest black two piece.

And after she'd run her fingers through all those clothes, she'd ignored the sense of impropriety, of domination and degradation that her old independence tried to claim, and she slid into the white bikini.

She walked slowly out to the back patio, dropped the towel to the deck chair, and pressed her toes to the sun-heated tiles. She hated to admit it, but the water was daunting after her training. The idea of going under. . .

She hadn't heard him, but suddenly his hand was at her neck and his mouth was following.

He was soft with it, his lips trailing a line of desire down to the white material at her spine. His fingers followed, then slid around her hip to curl under the waistband of her swimsuit. She sucked in a breath and felt that tantalizing heat as he slowly licked the side of her neck.

"I wanna get wet first," she murmured.

"That's what I'm doing, love."

She let out a breathless laugh and laced her fingers through his, pulled his hand out from her bikini bottoms to kiss his palm. "Pool, get me wet in the pool."

"I can do that too," he said, and she felt his smile stain her skin.

His body nudged her forward, his hands at her hips, their fingers entwined and their movements like a dance, swaying towards the water. It wasn't cold, but it wasn't hot out here either; a cool breeze lifted her hair and she drew him closer even as they headed to the pool.

She wasn't afraid. That was ridiculous. But she was glad he was such a wonderful distraction.

"You're soft here," he murmured, his thumb stroking. "And you're hard beneath it. So strong."

She reached back and gripped his thigh. All his training, his rigid schedule, and she'd only had four weeks of it, but- "Just like you?"

He huffed at her neck and shivers went down her spine; Rick stopped them at the edge of the water and she felt his teeth at her ear. "Together."

She grinned and turned her head to look at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I wanna jump. You game?"

And while he'd been building such a wonderful, heated moment, he now had switched it up on her, made her want to laugh with him, tease, made her want to make it last. Everything else about the last four weeks melted down to nothing and she was just Kate, the woman he loved, the woman who loved him, and they were on their honeymoon.

He must know about the water-boarding training.

"Count of three?" she suggested.

He wrapped his arms around her. "On three. One."

He'd already lifted her off her toes. "Two-"

"Three," he shouted, and threw them both bodily in.

* * *

He pushed off the bottom of the pool, the water warm and liquid, their jump a rush. She was a mermaid in his arms, slipping away and stroking to the deeper water. He chased after her and caught her ankle, her skin sliding coolly between his fingers.

When he broke the surface, she was already there, hair lying in a rope at her neck, lashes wet, grinning and reaching out for him. It was nearly six feet here, and her toes came to his thighs, bouncing, before she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

He grunted at the feel of her, found her mouth before she could stop smiling. Kate hummed and stroked her tongue past his, moaning in his arms. He could barely remember to breathe, waves of water rocking over them as their hips clashed together.

The water seemed to slip in and around and within them, holding them up. She opened her mouth at his neck and kissed him, her wet hair trailing over his collarbone. He liked the tight grip of her swimsuit around his fingers as he investigated the ladder of her ribs, liked the strength of her legs around him.

"I've missed you," she murmured, nipping at his neck and trailing up to his ear.

Her skin was so soft, slick with the water, the pool heated at just the right temperature to make his whole body alive. The shiver of the waves licked at their skin, and he wasn't sure he could keep them afloat for much longer.

She rocked closer to him, the whole afternoon shimmering around them and catching them up.

He groaned and pressed his forehead against hers, their breath mingling, and he saw the sun was setting over her shoulder, a corona of light around her. "So beautiful, you are so beautiful."

"Your eyes are as deep as the sea," she murmured back, a flush rising in her cheeks as the words came out.

His heart caught and he slid his hands up to cradle her face, placing a soft kiss on her mouth.

He wanted to take her back up to that massive master bedroom and do this right, but he didn't think he could stop now.

She didn't seem to want to.

* * *

"Bring the wine," he called back, watching her body shiver as she walked away from him.

He lounged on the steps leading down into the heated pool, his eyes on the beautiful line of her legs as she stepped over the threshold of the sliding glass door. She turned around to pull the screen shut and wriggled her fingers at him, winking.

Fuck. She winked at him.

He wanted her again.

They'd stopped for basic necessities before getting a taxi to the villa, and he'd put the wine in the fridge to chill, thinking they'd want it later. Now that their - ah, swimming? - had pushed them right past dinner, he was content to drift. The sun had set and the sky was an inky blue shot through with stars, the sea merely a white noise of power far below. Still in the infinity pool, it looked like he could swim right out into that sky, touch those stars.

He could see her through the panel of glass that formed the back wall of the villa; she was scraping her wet hair from her neck and pulling stuff out of the fridge, bending over to give him such a tempting view.

He sucked in his breath and lifted his eyes to the night, blinked through the surge of want that clamored in his blood like a hungry beast.

Wine first. Some cheese or fruit for sustenance.

And _then-_

"It's freezing in there," she called out. He dropped his gaze and saw her coming back through the door, shutting it awkwardly with wine and a basket of food in hand. He stayed where he was, let her come to him and she was already dropping down at the side of the pool, sticking her feet in the water as she took a long drink.

"Whoa," he laughed, coming over to her and putting his arms on the side of the pool, resting his chin on his fist. "My turn."

She held out the wine and he took it, a grin lifting his lips. "Remember the barn at Stone Farm?"

"Do I," she murmured, a dark and dangerous look in her eyes. And then she laughed and took a handful of wheat crackers, munched on them one by one while he watched.

Couldn't help himself. She was ethereal and fantastic and she made him happy and she was real - she was _genuine_ - in a way he'd never been exposed to before.

She would laugh and she would trip up the stairs (okay, only that one time, and she was recovering from a bullet in the back then, but still). She could make mistakes and then try her best, and she could be obsessive and addictive, but she was also soft and warm, and her eyes smiled when she saw him (he hadn't known eyes could smile all on their own, but hers did), and she was protective of him and wanted him to do right - to be a better man - and she was running her fingers through his hair as she cradled a bottle of wine and she was just perfect.

She was perfect for him, really. The foibles and faults and obsessions were _her_, and he loved her.

Her nails scratched at his scalp and she took another sip, gave him the bottle. He sipped after her, mostly because she was smiling at him, and then he handed it back, let her have it. He took a pear she'd brought out in her little basket of food, and bit into its soft, juicy fruit, humming when it ran down his arm.

Kate was staring at him, and suddenly she snagged him by the wrist and came in close, sucked at his skin, licking the juice.

He forgot to breathe, choked when her mouth left a hickey at his pulse, and his fingers dropped the pear entirely.

It fell into the water and she laughed, a dark and rich thing that made him hot, made him desperate, and he reached for her thighs. She groaned and he dug his toes into the tiled side of the pool to give himself leverage, buried his face in her lap.

Her hands came to his head, running through his hair, and he could feel her breath catch.

He pressed a kiss to the skin of her inside thigh and dragged her closer.

She gasped. "Sorry - sorry about your fruit."

"You'll do nicely," he murmured and pushed his fingers under the waistband of her bikini.

* * *

Kate hummed and grinned at him in the darkness, kept one hand on his shoulder to hold her up as they tread water in the pool. "Shift me closer," she murmured.

He did as she asked, putting her right at the side, and she reached out for the wine bottle, that delicious and slow heat of the water tickling her neck. The cool night air prickled along her wet skin as she closed her fingers around the neck of the wine, but when she lifted it for more, she groaned.

"What?" he whispered.

"It's empty." She tried to hiss at him but it bubbled out into another laugh. "Oh, shit, Castle, you let me drink a whole bottle of wine alone."

"Actually, that's your second bottle."

"No!" she gasped, staring at him with just the stars highlighting his strong jaw. Delicious. So delicious, everything. "No, no. Two bottles?"

"I had half a bottle, probably. The rest is on you."

"Oh, I'm more than a little drunk," she murmured, blinking hard. When she'd been unable to coordinate her efforts to swim, he'd wrapped his arms around her and kept her floating. At the time, it was just so _nice_ having him close and warm and her fingers kept finding new places on his body to explore, with those lovely sounds he made, and-

"Drunk enough to giggle," he said, and damn he was smirking at her.

"I haaaate you," she sighed, dropping her forehead to his shoulder and jerking back when she got a faceful of water. "Ugh. Um. I should-"

"We should get out," he laughed, stroking the wet hair back from her face. "Need me to carry you?"

"No," she moaned, giggled again when the sound reverberated across the pool and bounced back to them, carried by the water. Oh shit, she was giggling and finding _sound_ funny. "Just, hurry. Before I do something really crazy."

"Oh, wait. Crazy? How crazy we talking here?"

"I so hate you," she moaned, but her body was fizzing and crackling with just how very very much she _hated_ him, and she was having trouble not touching. Stop touching. Let him swim them over to the steps and get out.

He stroked to the steps with a hard, strong line of his arms and she sighed, felt the water against her skin in warm resistance as he pulled her through the pool. It felt good; it felt like she could float like this all night, buoyed by the lovely touch of heated water.

"Don't you love this pool?" she murmured, pushing her lips against his shoulder as he hauled her upright on the stairs. "It's so warm. Oh, wow, it's freezing out here."

The shock of night air snapped her sober for a second, but Castle was guiding her to the tiled patio and wrapping a towel around her, rubbing her arms briskly. She hummed and canted towards him, felt his arms around her, his mouth at her temple.

"You ready for bed?" he murmured.

"Oh no, no. It's too perfect. I could stay up for hours."

"So not a sleepy drunk?"

She huddled a little closer, pressing her thighs between his legs and her feet just inside his. "Yes, usually. But this is - ummmm. . .close to wasted. Yes. Wasted. I agree with that assessment."

He laughed and cupped her jaw with his hands, kissed her softly. She was messy with it, couldn't seem to focus on where she wanted to go first, and so she knew it wasn't as artful and seductive as she could usually make it. But oh, that was so good, his tongue inside her mouth and his fingers slipping under the towel.

"You're so good at this," she moaned, bright bubbles popping in her blood and releasing the heat all over her body.

"You're easy when you're drunk. Sorry - not drunk, wasted."

"I am. Oh, I am easy. If I was just drunk, I'd be a little morose, but this has just pushed me right past that into. . .oh, I don't know. Horny? Cause, fuck, you feel good."

He laughed harder, and she hummed at the echo of it in his chest and around her body, like the air was shimmering with his laughter.

She curled her hands at his biceps and shivered. "I'm gonna go inside. You come with me."

He chuckled - and really, all these sounds for his laughter, each needed their own word. "Kate, we already did that. I'm good for another hour."

Already did. . .oh. Ohhh, delicious. He made such wonderful shouting _noise_ when he did. "Then just me," she hummed, giggling at the _fuck me_ look that fell over his face. She tripped on the towel and spun even as she stood still, everything spinning, and then his hand was at her elbow and guiding her towards the glass doors.

Oh, no, no. Wait. Glass doors and drunk Kate, soooo very not a good idea. "Wait, wait, I'm gonna miss."

"Miss?"

"You have to - do this. You have to do this, Rick, cause I'm gonna miss it."

She tightened the towel around her and huddled into it, the chill seeping up under her toes, curling at her ankles. Castle stared at her a moment, then shook his head and reached for the handle on the sliding glass door and - yes. Yes. Her vision was off. Look at that. She could've sworn his hand would have to be down and to the left.

Oh, wow. Two bottles.

"I hate you," she laughed, turning and pushing her lips hard into his mouth to show just how very much.

He laughed against her kiss and scooped her knees right out from under her.

Kate gasped but she was caught, the mad thump of her heart only made the dizziness, the giggly-ness that much worse. So worse. She buried her face into his chest - his warm, bare chest - and licked at his collarbone.

He cursed and stumbled over the threshold of the sliding glass door and she tightened her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts against him.

"You're wet," he grunted.

"You bet I am."

He groaned and his grip tightened, made her a little breathless and shivery in an entirely different way. The heater inside the villa had kicked on sometime during the night, because it was toasty as he carried her upstairs.

And now every nerve ending was alive and crackling, the heat between them building into this cranked, twisted, complicated thing that she knew would all unravel the second he put his hands on her.

She could just - fall apart at a breath.

Wasted. Totally wasted. And she felt good. She felt so good.

And she knew it was because he was here. If she were alone, it'd have gone from morose to self-destructive by the bottom of the second bottle. But her self-destructive side was subsumed into her need for him, remade into this glorious, burning thing. She wanted to do this all night, do _him_, and the alcohol only made her just desperate enough to beg for it.

"Rick," she sighed, but he was putting her down on the bed with a reverence and softness that wouldn't do. At all.

"Kate, sleep-"

"Oh hell, no. Were you not listening? I'm up. Are you?"

She reached out and snagged him by the waistband of his swim trunks, yanked him hard. He was just buzzed enough to topple over her, his heavy body crushing hers against the bed. Delicious. Quite.

Kate hummed and worked her legs out from under him, hooked her ankles around his lower back. She arched and groaned at the hard ridge of his hip meeting her, shifted her body to get at it again.

He let out a noise at her neck and started moving.

Finally.


	4. Chapter 4

**Close Encounters 5**

* * *

Wow, she was giggly.

Never in a million years would Castle have expected it. Giggly and sassy and sultry, and the combination was awkward and intoxicating and hilarious, and he absolutely adored her.

They fooled around in bed but she didn't exactly have the attention span necessary to do much finishing. But it was _fun_, and he hadn't expected that either. Her giggling over him wasn't the most encouraging, but when he looked at her, she had her eyes closed and she seemed totally blissed, and she was happy. She was letting herself be happy.

And he didn't care what they did tonight, or didn't do, if he got to be a part of that happiness.

"Oh, peanut butter," she sighed and dragged her body over his to stumble naked towards the door.

"Whoa, wait," he laughed, coming after her and tugging her back. "Shirt at least, Kate. The back wall is all windows."

"So?" And she kept going, stark naked and maybe a little too drunk to be downright sexy, but-

Ah, who was he kidding? Sexy as hell.

He was still bringing the shirt with him.

"Hurry, Castle. Peanut butter is calling. The siren song of peanut butter."

More like, the siren song of her ass.

Castle followed her to the kitchen and watched her root around in the bags of food they still hadn't unpacked, her hips shifting as she balanced foot to foot, her hair swaying forward as she peered inside.

"Scrumptious," she murmured, apparently commenting on the food they'd bought. "Delectable. Mm, like that one."

After an appropriate amount of ogling, he took one of her arms and slid on the sleeve of his flannel shirt, then let her have her hand back to dig out the peanut butter. He took the other arm and did the same so that the shirt was at least draped over her shoulders, open in the front but doing enough.

She shivered in strange contrast and turned back to him, attempting to break the seal on her peanut butter. "Don't you _adore_ the crunchy?" she murmured, her eyes soft and liquid with desire.

For peanut butter, apparently, but that was fine too.

"Crunchy is good. But I like smooth better," he murmured, taking the jar out of her hands to take the seal off. She'd shredded it a little in her attempt, and he had to peel that aluminum paper off the edges before giving it back.

"Smoooooth," she drawled out. "You would."

He laughed and she stuck her finger into the jar, dug out a huge clump of crunchy peanut butter, and put it into her mouth. She moaned and her eyes rolled back.

She was gonna kill him. He should've drunk more wine.

He wasn't dead sober, but the pleasant buzz had faded and he really wanted to sleep, but she was like a hummingbird, vibrant and active and flitting from one thing to the next.

Kate pushed past him and scurried for the living room - it was scurrying, had to be, because skipping with quick steps seemed an inane and stupid thing to call it, but oh - no - his bad, look at that. She just gave a little hop at the peak of her skip so. . .

Skipping it was.

Damn. Kate Beckett was so drunk she was skipping.

He followed her and she turned back for him, holding her hand out, curling her fingers suggestively, and he liked that she did that. The wanting him. She wasn't lost in her own drunk little world, she was always seeking him as a touchstone or a ballast, something. She'd built up this elaborate, hilarious fantasy around the two of them, and she kept dragging him along with her.

"Stop dallying," she chided softly, pushed him back into the chair. She settled in over his lap, rocking her hips lazily, but she was eyeing him from between her lashes, giggling when he groaned and tilted his head back.

"Dallying," he repeated. "You bring out the weirdest words when you're drunk out of your mind, Kate Beckett."

She giggled and pushed a sloppy, sticky kiss to his lips, her tongue sharing the taste. "Not out of my mind. Pretty firmly in it. Just - happy."

"I can tell," he mused, lifting his head from the back of the chair to watch her. She wriggled her hips over him and reached between them for his pants. He caught her wrist - he knew all too well that would go nowhere, not with her like this - and she sighed and pushed the peanut butter into his face.

"But you'd like it. I would too. Tasty."

He choked on a laugh and took the peanut butter away from her, the top as well (she'd brought the top with her, responsible, drunk Beckett. Interesting). He screwed it back on and put it on the floor beside the chair.

"Kate, honey, aren't you tired?"

"Honey is sweet. Have you ever put honey on a peanut butter sandwich? That's good too. Oh, I love it. And the smell of honeysuckles. I have this lotion-"

"You do," he agreed, ready to get off this track. "I've smelled it on you. I packed it for you."

"Ohhhhh," she sighed, collapsing against his chest. "You did? Oh, you did. I love you."

He wrapped his arms around her back and couldn't help the kick of his heart at hearing it, so effortless and natural and sincere from her lips. "Love you too, Kate."

"I think I'm falling asleep now," she whispered, her mouth open at his collarbone.

"Uh-huh."

"Mm, yeah. Yeah, I'm gone."

And she was.

He'd wait here a few minutes, let her get truly under, and then he'd carry her back to their bedroom.

In the morning, she was _so_ in for it.

* * *

Whoa. No way.

He opened his eyes and saw Kate's face peering over him, the soft fall of her hair over her shoulder, the smile. Lovely smile.

And completely sober.

"Kate?" he got out, blinking in the dim light. "Why the fuck aren't you hungover?"

She didn't laugh, but her smile widened. "You've slept through the worst of it."

He struggled to sit up, staring at her. "You drank a bottle and a half and you're looking like it was nothing."

She still didn't laugh. Ohhh, okay. She had a headache then, and she'd pulled the blinds - probably when the sun rose - and so he'd slept in without the light to wake him.

"What time's it?"

"One."

"In the afternoon?" he gasped, pushing his feet out of bed.

"I don't know what time I fell asleep. But I woke at four and was sick," she admitted with a small smile, shrugging. "I feel okay now."

His irritation at perfect-drunk-Beckett disappeared in a flash. "You threw up at four this morning?"

"Yeah. Slept until about an hour ago." She slid a knee onto the mattress next to him, trailed her fingers down his chest. She was going with seduction? Really? "You took care of me last night, Castle?"

"Uh, I mostly. . .let you do what you wanted."

"I woke in your flannel shirt."

"Yeah," he grinned.

"I love that shirt," she murmured, her other knee sliding over his thighs and bracketing his waist. She settled low, her hands at his hipbones, her body leaning over his. "I love you."

"You said that last night too," he murmured, catching her hair as it fell over her shoulder, pushing it back. She was in a white tshirt and jeans, and she looked good. Fresh. A little tired maybe, now that he was looking.

"You love me back?" She put her forearms on his chest and came closer.

"Of course I do," he said, wrapping his arms loosely around her shoulders to pull her down the rest of the way. "You're gorgeous and apparently the best drunk ever-"

"Only with you," she sighed, kissing him softly, her lips a gentle pressure against his. "Just you."

"With me you're a good drunk?" he laughed, shifting a hand to her thigh and squeezing.

"Yeah. Usually I'm a nightmare. I think you just - you make me happy. And I'm safe with you," she murmured, and she pressed her cheek to his chest and wouldn't look at him. "I can relax with you because nothing will happen. Nothing bad will ever happen."

He wanted it to be true, so badly. He wanted to be the one who kept her safe, made her happy, gave her peace.

Castle stroked his fingers through her hair and kissed her temple, wrapped his arms around her so she was draped over his body, full clothed, the darkness of the room keeping them close.

Intimate.

Her breathing in time with his.

_Nothing bad will ever happen._

How he wished he could believe it.

* * *

Kate eased up from the lounge chair and turned over on her back to soak in the sunlight. Castle passed in front of her, his shadow falling across her stomach, and he sat down in the chaise next to hers.

"Dinner reservations at a place in town," he said. "Good thing you flipped - your back looked pink."

She groaned and sat up, twisting around to look at her shoulders. A little pink; he was right. "Sunblock me?"

"My pleasure," he growled, hamming it up. She laughed and tossed the lotion to him. He caught it easily and gestured for her to lay down.

When she was on her stomach once more, she turned her head to watch him, the sunlight that made his hair golden around the edges and licked at his arms. Rick spread the lotion between his hands and leaned in, his palms pressing on her shoulders and skating down.

She moaned and closed her eyes behind her sunglasses, felt the sure, strong touch of his fingers over her skin, deep to her muscles, his weight bearing down against her.

His mouth was suddenly at her neck, brushing her shoulder, branding her spine. She reached for him, awkward in this position, but his hands trapped her, worked the lotion into her skin and down, skimming the top of her ass, coming back up to feather his fingers at her side.

He teased, never quite enough, never just where she wanted him, and his mouth roamed up to her jaw, her earlobe as her heart pounded and made her body shake.

He ground his thumbs into her shoulders and then he was gone. Her body felt hot and light at the same time, buoyed even as she burned. Castle was calmly closing the sunblock and sinking down to the other lounge chair. She struggled to make words come out of her mouth.

"What was all that for?" she murmured, feeling like she needed a dip in the pool.

"You moaned. That's what happens when you make noises like that."

She opened her mouth to do it again, _one more time,_ but he laughed and caught her lips with a kiss.

"Save it for later. We have an hour before dinner. And I want to actually take you out."

* * *

Beckett let the smells of cumin and coriander wash over her, the distinct flavor of lamb in the air as well as fresh vegetables. They'd been seated at an open-air cafe, their table tilting back and forth on unsteady legs, but Castle put his elbows on the wooden top and held it still.

She sipped hesitantly at what their waitress had termed _triantafyllo_ - rose cordial, Castle had explained - and the sweet milk with its dark pink syrup was definitely a new taste - not at all the strawberry milkshake her mouth kept expecting.

Castle had ordered it, assuring her it wasn't alcoholic, and then he'd been the one to translate the names and ingredients of the dishes as well. She had the feeling that this place was more a local than tourist spot, and she liked being able to relax into the native atmosphere. She opened up her bottle of water and cleansed her palatte as the waitress came back.

They had appetizers of yogurt and _pourgouri_, a kind of bread steamed with tomato and onion. Haloumi cheese was grilled and brought out next, along with a vegetable salad: chickpeas, okra, green beans on a bed of lettuce and grape leaves. Kate felt like the food had a distinctly Greek flavor, and she loved the wild taste of their dishes.

Finally, they were served _souvla_ - skewered lamb with pork sausage, more of the cheese, and mushrooms. She tasted something else as well and laughed when she realized.

"Mint?" she asked him, lifting an eyebrow as she remembered his story about the woman from the market in Marrakesh.

He grinned back. "Yeah. They use a lot of mint here. Celery too - I think it's ground up together in the marinade."

"It's amazing," she murmured, taking another bite and letting the rich flavor burst on her tongue.

"I thought you'd like it," he said, his eyes warm and happy across the little table. She pushed off her sandal and curled her toes, slipped her foot under the cuff of his jeans to stroke at his shin.

His happy smile turned into that full-blown grin, pleased and enjoying her, and she grinned back, let her foot hook at the back of his ankle.

"Eat your dinner, Beckett."

She shrugged and left her foot on him, stroking a little, and returned to her lamb skewers, taking slow bites and mixing it with the salad so that the marinade soaked into the okra as well.

His calf flexed and she hid a smile into her plate, took a long swallow of water to look at him over the bottle. Their table was small and she saw him reach down, felt his fingers stroke her knee, trace the hem of her skirt above her patella. He inched his way forward, curled his fingers behind her knee, thumb rubbing.

She hummed and picked up the glass of rose cordial, lets it thick sweetness ease her throat. Castle was giving her a lazy smile, and she stroked her toes at the hard line of his calf.

His hand slipped off her knee with a last ghost of his fingers and he sat back, his eyes so filled with love that she wanted to reach across the table and wrap herself around him.

"We'll take a walk after dinner," he said, more question than command in his voice this time.

He was learning.

"Sounds good," she murmured, shifting her foot to stroke up the inside of his leg.

He nodded, and his eyes narrowed, but he seemed proud of himself. "So. Don't be starting something you can't finish."

"Oh, I can finish," she shot back, loving the heat that flared in his eyes. "Not my problem if you can't."

"I'll make it very much your problem, Kate Beckett. They have bathrooms."

She grinned and wondered how soon she'd break him, how soon he'd have her up against the sink.

She was going to have so much fun finding out.

* * *

One step out of the restaurant, he realized her skirt had caught a little in her waistband, lifting it to display the back of her thighs. He chuckled, reached out to pull it free.

She turned a questioning look to him, eyebrow raised.

"Everyone was getting to see what's mine," he murmured, smoothed his hand over her ass as she swatted him.

"Yours?"

"Well. Mine to see?" he corrected.

She narrowed her eyes, but he saw she couldn't maintain it. She was still that throaty and humming thing that she'd been in the bathroom - the sounds she'd made; he'd had to cover her mouth with his hand - and he loved to see her a little unraveled.

Just like last night. But she was entirely sober now. And that was amazing. To know it _didn't_ require a bottle and a half of wine to get Kate soft and fun and happy. Maybe just the cool touch of the night air, the Cypriot cuisine, a little bit of teasing.

He let her lead; no destination, their steps meandering, aimless along the old stone road. She brushed her thumb over the inside of his wrist and pressed her body against his. Her head came to his shoulder and a sigh fell out of her mouth.

"What?" he murmured. It had been a content sigh. She was back to humming a little, like there was a song she was trying to catch.

"I miss your dog."

"My dog?" he laughed. "She's your dog too."

"Mm, we all know she loves you best."

"She's with Carrie. We could video chat with-"

"Oh, jeez, no." Kate laughed and pulled away from his shoulder, their hips bumping in fulfillment of Newton's law. "We're not dog _parents_. We aren't skyping just to talk _at_ the wolf."

"You sure? Cause-"

"Unless you need to, Castle. Far be it from me to come between a man and his baby-"

He bumped her hard and she took it, barely pushed off course, their hands flexing around each other's. She was laughing and studying him out of the corner of her eye, like she was waiting to see if he really could handle it.

He wanted to knock her off her game a little, wanted to see that gasp of surprise like in the restuarant bathroom, sudden and swift.

"You better believe I'd skype. Even if she couldn't talk back; I don't want our baby to forget the sound of my voice."

There it was. The quick stumble and the stillness that came over her face, and then - oh, yes. Pleasure. Look at that, all over her face, brimming in her eyes. She wanted it too.

Her hand shook his loose and her arms came around his neck, her body pressed tight against his in the middle of the sidewalk in Cyprus.

"She wouldn't," Kate murmured. "She would never miss your voice because you'd call every day, wouldn't you? What a wonderful daddy you'd be."

* * *

He was a fool, but he was her fool.

Kate watched him in the moonlight as they entered the Villa, his hair silvery and his eyes in shadows, and she let herself dream about them, about how they'd be in twenty years and what their family might look like - two-person or not, dog or not, kids or not. And even though she knew it was foolish, that he was setting himself up for disappointment if they went on like this, she took his hand and let herself believe it was possible.

Somewhere. A parallel universe or far into the future or in circumstances she couldn't imagine right now.

Maybe some day.

He shut the door behind them and drew his arms around her waist, swaying a little in the tiled entry. She smelled the exotic lamb they'd had for dinner, and on his skin was the stale impression of sweat and love. Her body pushed into his without her say.

He chuckled and nuzzled his nose in to kiss her mouth, slow and somnolent, like they had all the time in the world, like there was never any rush.

If things were different, if they weren't the people they were, if they weren't their jobs, she'd want kids with this man. She'd _have_ kids with this man, and she'd put his daughter or son in his arms and revel in the tender way he took care of them.

Some day, some day, she chanted to herself - in a galaxy far, far away.

"Come to bed," she murmured, curling her fingers around his bicep and tugging him after her.

* * *

She woke in the dead of night to feel Castle sliding out of bed, his voice low and hushed as he spoke into his phone. She blinked and watched him walk out of the bedroom, felt her body tugging her back down into sleep.

Strange how easily she surrendered to it.

Six months ago she'd have been forcing herself out of bed to follow him, and three months ago she'd have stayed awake to question him upon his return.

Instead she closed her eyes and shifted into the warm space he'd left behind, snuggled closer to his pillow to smell the sleep scent of him, and knew - without a doubt - he'd wake her when it was necessary.

* * *

Castle booked the flights without her; he was senior agent anyway and it was his job to navigate their travel. She didn't have to wake up for this part.

But for the rest of the plan, he needed to talk it over with her first.

Castle padded quietly back into the bedroom, saw she'd hogged his pillow and the bed as well, lying in the middle with her body barely covered by that thin sheet. He pressed his fingertips to her shoulder blade and leaned over her, kissing her awake. She hummed as consciousness crept in, and then she grinned at his mouth and rolled onto her back, her eyes luminous.

"Hey there," she murmured, tugging on him. He came, positioning himself over her, and let her rock against him, sleepy and aroused and adorable.

"Kate," he said quietly, stroking his hand at her face as he propped himeslf on his elbows.

"Mm, you got a call," she sighed. "We need to go?"

"Yeah, actually."

"Too bad," Kate grinned. "I was really getting into the rhythm."

He laughed and kissed her again. "Up to you how this goes. Our flight leaves in six hours. We can sleep until then or we can-"

"Oh, yes. Let's do _or._"

He laughed harder, his head bowing to her collarbone as he tried to keep it together. She was skimming her fingers over him suggestively.

"Well, maybe not _or_ for six hours," he said.

"No?" she pouted. "I bet I could make you-"

"You could," he grinned. "But some of that time has to be spent in transit. And packing."

"Spoiling all my fun, Agent Castle."

"We'll have fun," he promised, running his mouth down her throat. "But we don't need six hours to do it."


	5. Chapter 5

**Close Encounters 5**

* * *

They flew to Rome first, took the same border-crossing cargo flight into Switzerland, went by train into France with different passports, and from there they would fly from the border town in France directly to Copenhagen.

She was sad to leave Cyprus and its food and warmth and sense of honeymoon, but it was time to dig into the real work and she was ready. She was ready to be useful again, to affect the course of events for the good.

They left the majority of their luggage at the safe house in France and packed Castle's backpack between them. She wore her coat over a layer of fleece, and Castle handed her gloves, showed her a couple of images online of the style adopted by most women of Copenhagen.

Castle tugged on a pair of black, heavy boots and slipped a phone down into the side, then pushed the leg of his corduroy pants down over it. Kate laughed at him for the move.

"Really, Agent Castle?" She nudged his boot with her own. "Shoe phone?"

He gave her a confused look for the space of a long second, and then a smile cracked his face and stayed there. "Good one. Best place to put it where it can't be easily found. Just a mission phone - keeps us both on the grid."

She nodded at him, pleased at how she'd made him smile, and how deep it was. How real. He still had that concentration in his eyes, but his narrow focus had expanded out, encompassed her once more.

Beckett continued to layer her clothes, imitating the style of dress, while Castle transformed from easy-going vacationer to handsome stranger right before her eyes.

When the plane touched down in the darkness of Copenhagen's nearly-perpetual night, Beckett was in corduroy skinny jeans with dark brown boots to her knee, a rich green fleece, a puffy ski coat with the faux-fur hood, and insulated black gloves. Castle was in a wool coat lined with a hoodie, fingerless gloves, and corduroy pants as well, but he'd added wide black-rimmed glasses that altered the shape of his face. She had her hair pulled tightly back at her nape, no eyeliner, her lips covered with only chapstick.

The difference was remarkable.

Honestly, if she'd thought Castle was a stranger in his new clothes, she had to admit she looked foreign to herself as well.

Castle led the way to a row of storage lockers inside the airport, withdrew a key hanging on a chain around his neck - the key had been in the packet left for them at the safe house in France. She lifted an eyebrow at him and he only grinned, inserting the key into locker 47.

A black duffle bag was inside; he took it and closed the locker, pushed the key back under his shirt.

When they exited the airport and moved to the waiting taxis, she noticed that most of the residents looked like they did. Backpacks and shoulder bags, layers, the men in peacoats with hoodies, the women in wool tights and sweaters, everyone in well-made boots. The temperature hovered just above feezing and the sky was a pearl-cast black; the sun had not yet made an appearance even this far into the morning.

They slung themselves into a cab and Kate flexed her fingers to keep the blood flowing in her hands. Castle rubbed at his knee like it ached, and she wondered what story was behind that one. Since they'd been traveling for all of yesterday and the first half of today, Castle gave the driver an address for a moderate hotel and checked the back window as they pulled out.

She glanced behind them as well, then she looked back out the front as they merged into traffic.

"We're good," he murmured finally, sat back in the cracked plastic seat as they made for the city.

Kate pulled off her gloves as the heat began to settle deeper into her bones, and she wrapped her fingers around his, held on.

Her ring was a hard, cold weight against her skin; he'd put his on as well and it winked in the street lights.

It was strange to realize she was more excited for the mission honeymoon than she'd been for the actual one.

Well. That's why he'd married her.

* * *

"It was between this and the youth hostel," he said with a laugh.

She shook her head. "I just - seeing the Marriott here surprised me," she laughed, following him inside the lobby. An 11-story hotel facing the southern harbor, the Marriott Copenhagen was close to Tivoli Gardens and even closer to their target.

He'd pulled out the map in the backset of the cab, showed her the dock-front former home that had been renovated by Foley's group ten years ago. The Copenhagen headquarters was just down the channel: four story and imposing, old world architecture that had been gutted out to house weapons and ammunition that the group smuggled around the world.

The Marriott was situated right on the harbor - a postmodern cube of glass that presided over the strange mix of severely modern and antique architecutre ranging the waterfront. It had only taken the cab fifteen minutes from the airport, and by the time they'd checked in to their tenth floor room, the sweeping view night-like had Beckett thoroughly entranced.

She was in Copenhagen.

She pulled off her coat slowly, slipped the fleece over her head, dropped it to the armchair in the plain room. Castle came up behind her and pushed his fingers into her hair, pulled it loose.

His mouth came to her neck and she could see his reflection in the window, the way his broad body filled up all the space, the way hers fit between his shoulders. His nails scratched at her scalp and she hummed.

"We can get about four hours of sleep," he murmured. "And then we'll go."

She felt her heart pound and kept her focus on the lights burning beyond the glass.

"You know the plan?"

"We'll go over it again?" she said instead. Was she nervous? She was. Excited and she wanted to do it right; she liked to know the details, liked to see how it all fit together, how it was supposed to work.

"Don't worry. We'll go over it again."

* * *

"Wish I could take you to the Tivoli Gardens."

She held his hand as they ambled down the waterfront's boardwalk, heading southwest towards the rougher area, towards Foley's headquarters.

"Next time," she murmured finally.

"It's amazing," he sighed. "It's one of the best amusement parks, and really, half of its appeal is the design. It was supposed to be this reimagined Orient - you can see how alluring that would be. It opened in 1843 with the idea that the people couldn't rebel against their king if they were busy having fun."

She chuckled and squeezed his hand, impressed with him, a little amused too. "You're really such a dork underneath that super spy exterior."

He grinned back at her from behind his Clark Kent black-framed glasses, bundled in his coat and hoodie again, that bag from the storage locker looped around his chest. "Well, at least now I look the part."

She leaned in close enough to bump his shoulder and he wrapped his arm loosely around her waist.

She'd left the fleece and her gloves back in the hotel room in the interest of having an easier range of movement and better grip; her coat was warm enough and her arms and shoulders weren't constricted this way. Castle had his weapon under his coat, but she'd seen him practicing the draw before they left. His efficiency was both scary and a complete turn-on. Brutal determination lined his face, and his eyes were that flat and steel blue despite his smile.

Their path followed the curve of the walkway, but Castle snagged her by the hand and pulled her up a short flight of stairs to street level, led her along an alley between two office buildings. They'd approach the house by way of the broad avenue, do some recon before they breached.

Her breath stung icy in her lungs, but she was vibrating with energy; her fingers chapped in the wind. She bit her bottom lip and kept watch behind them, looking for tails or guards. Castle had mentioned that Foley's group had a nasty habit of sending out what they called Roamers - security guys who surveilled the surrounding block for threats.

"Five o'clock," she said quietly, shifting her eyes back to his and giving him a wide smile. He came in and kissed her quickly, speaking against her mouth.

"Blue coat?"

"Yeah."

He nodded and they ambled farther up the street, easing away from the guy with too much bulk under his coat for it to just be layers.

"How's it look?" he murmured.

"Good. Doing good."

"Then let's go back down to the dock side of things."

"Aye-aye, Captain."

He laughed and lifted their joined hands to brush his thumb at her lip. "This is so much more fun with you here."

* * *

When they crossed onto Tømmergravsgade directly at the channel, bypassing Dieselhouse even though Castle knew she'd love it like the motor-freak she was, he slipped them off down an alley and pulled her into the doorway of an old warehouse made of brick and crumbling mortar. The door was rusted metal and when he pushed his hand to it, it gave way.

They went inside the massive, open-air warehouse, stepping over rodent feces and human debris, and Beckett made her way to the far end, positioned herself in front of the grimy, boarded up windows.

"We might have to go up to the catwalk," he said quietly, studying the rusted stairs at the back.

She shook her head and pointed; when he followed her line of sight, he realized one section of the last window had been pried up. The darkness of the interior was relieved only by the lone halogen lamp burning from the parking lot of the closed supermarket across the street.

He shifted in front of the window and checked out the house.

It couldn't really be called a house any longer, so worked over and remodeled had it been. He noted four industrial chimney stacks on the roof, while its brick facade made the four-story building look mean and squalorly. Scanning the yard, he realized that shipping containers were lined up near the water, ready for transport.

No wonder Black had called him in early. Looked like the last pitiful dregs of Foley's group were about to abandon ship with their stock.

"There's the lower door," Beckett murmured.

He glanced back to the building and saw the cellar-like door that jutted out into the concrete at the side. They had maybe three yards between this building and that cellar access.

"You see any-"

Castle paused as the security guard came around the corner at that very moment.

"Fifteen after," she murmured. He glanced at her quickly, saw her eyes on her watch.

Damn. Her father's watch. He should've told her about that. Shit.

No, no. It was fine. It'd be fine. She wasn't going to be in a situation that required a direct confrontation with anyone; her father's watch would never lead anyone back anywhere.

It was fine.

Next time though.

He put his eyes back on the view through the broken board, waited until the guard did his round. "Mark," he said.

"Twenty-three seconds," she said.

He nodded and kept lookout at the window, scanned the house across from them with avid eyes. No movement, no activity. He was surprised, actually, by how deserted it seemed - what with their cargo just waiting in the yard.

"Stay here," he said. "Time the guard when he comes back."

"That's what I'm doing, Castle," she muttered.

Uh-huh. Backtalk. But, yeah, that was fun too. He'd rarely been partnered with someone who felt confident enough to roll their eyes at him.

Castle tread lightly across the floor, headed for the metal stairs built into the back. The warehouse echoed with the faintest sound, and climbing the stairs made the thing rattle like chains. Beckett, from the floor, shot him what he knew was a dirty look, but he moved up to the catwalk as quietly as he could.

Once around the perimeter, he found a window looking out over the channel, scanned the water for barges. Foley's group had to have someone coming for those containers, and it bothered him a lot that the place seemed so deserted.

He narrowed his eyes to see better in the shimmering darkness, but he couldn't make out if those were shadows or possible freighters. It'd be break bulk - individual pieces consisting of those metal shipping containers - so the cargo ship would have to have a crane; it would take some time to load.

But why was no one around? It didn't sit well with him. Not at all.

The sooner they blew this place, the better.

* * *

"Thirteen minutes, five seconds," she whispered to him. "The place isn't that big - why's it take him so long to make a circuit?"

Castle shook his head and she could see the way his mind worked behind his eyes, churning, revolving, going through every possible scenario, telling himself story after story until he found the one that made sense.

"How many circuits is that?" he muttered.

"Three." They'd been here for nearly an hour; she hadn't realized so much of spy craft was this interminable waiting. Just like detective work - quite a lot of it was completely unglamorous.

"That's a pattern," he sighed, like he didn't quite believe it. "When's he set to swing back around?"

"Eight minutes, roughly thirty seconds."

"Is your watch engraved?" he asked suddenly.

She jerked her head up, blinked at him. "No."

He nodded.

What was _that_ about?

"Okay, when he comes back around, you and I are going in that cellar door." Castle swung his bag over his head and off, yanked it open, the teeth of the zipper loud in the dark, echoing space.

She reached in for the bolt cutters and drew them out. "I can't believe this stuff was just _waiting_ for us at the airport."

"Life of a spy, sweetheart."

She rolled her eyes at him and propped the bolt cutters onto her shoulder. Castle drew his weapon and zipped the bag up again. The gun had been in the storage locker's bag as well, and she was faintly horrified by how easy it had all been to get connected with their tools of mayhem.

She checked her father's watch-

Oh. Had he - was that what the comment was about? Stupid, that was stupid, Beckett. She'd just - she'd put on the watch because he'd packed it for her, and she'd worn it because she always had worn it, but maybe that was a bad idea, maybe it would make it easier to identify her.

Or her father?

No, she couldn't fathom how someone would ever trace this back to her father.

Except-

"How long now?" he asked.

"Four minutes."

Her father's watch. She wouldn't do that again. And the ring? She'd only be able to wear her engagement ring when it was part of their cover, like now. Castle was wearing the flat silver band from before, so that was okay then.

Suddenly she wanted her weapon. Any weapon. Badly.

"There he is," Castle murmured.

"Two minutes early," Beckett said, shifting closer to the window. The guard was walking faster now, but he still rattled every door and peered up at the windows, then did that slow check of the opposite building, the long alley between them.

Castle and Beckett stayed very still and the guard went around the corner.

"Let's go," he breathed out, and already he was moving for the door.

* * *

She snapped the lock on the cellar doors set into the concrete and Castle raised one up only partially. She slipped inside and he came after her, easing the door back into place. She had the lock in her hand and she left it on the stairs at her feet, felt Castle fumbling at her back.

The tiny light came on, like a penlight only not as bright, and she grabbed the bag and the light from him, let him shift in front of her.

He led the way down the stairs with his gun drawn, and she carried the bag and the light, tucking the bolt cutters away inside. At the bottom, Castle did a slow arc with his weapon, Beckett pointing the barely helpful light before him. They didn't speak; he used the same signals she gave to her boys when they entered a hostile premises, and that small gesture of _go right_ put her heart at ease.

She moved to the right after Castle had cleared the space, her brain clicking into focus. She needed to find bomb making elements - either actual charges being stored here, or the individual components she'd learned in training.

Castle investigated to the left, without the light, but she could see him using the display from some kind of digital device to help in his search.

Beckett eased open the lid of a round container, winced as the smell hit her.

"Castle."

His head came up and his eyes met hers.

"Linseed oil," she grinned.

He grinned back and came for her. "Don't need anything else."

* * *

She helped him rip bundles of rags from the dirty sail cloths lying in one corner, the material shredding under his knife. Castle soaked the rags in the drum and pulled them out as they began to sink to the bottom. The linseed oil gave off pungent fumes that made her light-headed, but they didn't have time to stop and air the place out.

The soaked rags were already warm in her hands as they shuffled through the space, depositing tight bundles near dried out wooden crates or other flammable materials. Castle dumped the rest in the duffle bag and handed it to her.

"Takes three hours to see flames," he said quietly. She nodded, glad of the confirmation as she carried the stuff around.

Linseed oil heated up as it evaporated, so hot that within an hour the temperature of the rag could reach 110 degrees Fahrenheit, about 43 Celsius. After two hours, smoke would begin to curl from the rags, and in three-

They'd be long gone in three hours.

Castle led her to the main stairs and they went up slowly, his weapon in the lead. When they got to the door leading to the rest of the house, they both paused to listen.

She checked her watch as Castle pressed his ear to the door.

"We've got three minutes," she whispered.

He grunted and pushed open the door to the main floor of the house.

* * *

Castle studied the dark night from a front window of the main floor, a bundle of rags in his free hand, until he was certain that the guard wasn't patrolling this closely to the house.

"Three minutes," she muttered.

"Go on," he said quietly.

She nodded and climbed the wide stairs to the higher floors, the bag over her shoulder, disappearing from his sight. He didn't hear a thing from Beckett above him, which was good, so he headed back for the converted kitchen and began placing rags near cleaning supplies under the sink.

The back door kicked in.

Fuck.

As gunfire erupted, Castle dove towards the heavy wooden table, flipped it over on his way down, felt his back hit the kitchen wall. The security team was frighteningly skilled, nearly silent as they stalked the house, gunfire chattering in bursts. He popped his head up and found two men in heavy winter gear firing automatic weapons.

The kitchen table splintered around him and he ducked to avoid the fragments, lifted his his gun to fire at where one of the men had stood.

A grunt told him he'd been lucky, and he risked a glance.

One dragging - thigh wound - but the other was on the move.

For the stairs.

Castle shoved the table directly into the gunman's path, came up into a crouch as he fired twice. He missed, mentally counting his bullets, and ran for the side room as the plaster exploded in gunfire around him.

The two men were yelling in a mixture of Danish and _French_, and Castle rolled behind a series of work stations, waiting for them to come after him.

But they didn't. He heard boots on the stairs instead.

Fuck.

Beckett didn't have a weapon.


	6. Chapter 6

**Close Encounters 5**

* * *

When gunfire shattered the house a floor below her, Beckett _moved_.

She threw the last of the rags behind a container of packing material, the heat of it already scalding her fingers, and moved back for the stairs.

The gunfire scattered and paused, and she felt her hands shake when she heard the return fire of his weapon.

Two shots. Now two more and a groan of furniture.

And then the eruption of semi-automatic.

She could do nothing to help without a damn weapon.

Beckett clenched her fists and climbed the stairs back up to the fourth floor, heading for a tool room she remembered seeing. She'd skipped it initially, afraid the rags would have nothing to catch fire among all the metal, but now she prayed for a weapon.

She heard boots on the stairs below her.

Fuck.

Beckett moved faster, despite the noise that gave her away, and then raced down the hall for the tool room.

Gunfire shattered the stairs, ripped up the floor under her feet, and she gasped, throwing herself through the doorway, barely avoiding the spray of bullets.

Shit, shit, this was really not good.

She scrambled to her feet and shut the door, at the last second easing it closed to make less noise, and then she moved farther back into the room, began going through its contents for a weapon.

Anything.

Fuck, anything at all.

* * *

Beckett. Beckett.

Shit.

_French_ they were speaking - why and how the fuck-

He dove down as they fired, but he was on the damn stairs - a fucking sitting duck - and he felt the bullet crease his ear as it went past. How many damn times would he get that lucky?

Castle scrambled back to his feet as he heard gunfire above him, his heart beating hard and making his hands throb. He raced up the stairs but had to stop at the second floor landing. The two gunmen were nowhere in sight and-

The front door banged open with an explosion of gunfire - single shots, like his own weapon.

The fucking security guard.

Castle turned on the landing, torn between going up after the two guys or dealing with the threat at his back.

Fuck.

He crouched low and eased back down the stairs, waited for the security guard to move from the front door and take those last few steps inside, directly into Castle's line of sight.

He heard semi-automatic fire overhead and his chest squeezed painfully, but there was the guard.

There he was.

Castle fired.

* * *

A blowtorch.

A blowtorch. She could work with that, right?

But her hands and shirt were soaked with linseed oil.

Shit, this could be a disaster.

Beckett heard them on the stairs, the last few steps before they reached the fourth floor, and then the snap of the first door in the hallway banging open. She wrapped her fingers around the grimy handle of the blowtorch, hefted it off the shelf.

The spout was a rusted, the tank itself was a greasy white. The label was in Danish, but she thought it was butane gas, and the weight of it pulled at her arms, stretched the scar on her back. It was unwieldy, but she hoped that meant it was a full tank and that the flame would have a longer reach.

She was picturing lighting up creme brulee, and it wasn't pretty. She'd be shot before the flame even touched her enemies.

Another door down the hall slammed open. She heard the crackle of gunfire and licked her bottom lip.

If she stayed where she was, waited for them to find her, they'd spray the room with bullets before she ever had a chance.

If she cracked open the door and waited for her moment, she might incapacitate one of them and grab his weapon.

Might.

Beckett carried the blowtorch to the door and eased her fingers around the knob.

Here went nothing.

* * *

Castle took the stairs two at a time in leaps ever upward, his heart racing. The security guard was gurgling through a chest wound, and Castle now had his weapon as well, but too much time had elapsed.

It'd taken too long.

He heard them on the fourth floor now, gunfire loud and explosive, echoing down the stairs. He made it to the third floor landing and paused, head checked the stairs.

They were already in the hallway. A door banging open, the clatter of semi-automatic fire, and then a strange hiss and rush of sound, like a beast taking a deep, roaring breath.

What the fuck?

He put his foot on the bottom step to sprint up and instead heard the hair-raising, bone breaking _scream_ of vicious and extreme pain.

Fire.

It was fire.

The rush of a body going up in flame.

Oh fuck, fuck, the linseed oil - they were soaked in it and Beckett-

He found the fourth floor in a raging inferno, the walls licked with flames, the conflagration centered on two forms, both of which were now screaming in that terrible and uncontrollably high-pitched agony.

Beckett.

* * *

She backed away from the rage of flames, her heart pounding hard, the linseed oil slick against her skin. The butane torch was still in her hands and she didn't know what to do with it. The tool room was at her back and she tripped over the threshold.

The men were on fire.

It wasn't exactly what she'd been going for.

"Beckett!"

She sucked in a burning breath and forced her gaze past the men. "Castle!" She could see him just beyond the flames, but it would be impossible to reach him.

Still he looked like he was going to try.

"No!" she yelled, panic clamoring hard in her ribs. "Stay there."

But he probably couldn't hear her; the flames roared between them. She teetered on the edge of the fire, the walls rippling and beginning to collapse, and she realized with a sick sense of dread that they'd planted flammable rags all through the house.

It would go up in moments.

"Leave," she screamed at him. "You have to get out of here. Go!"

And then turned for the tool room.

* * *

Castle felt his stomach drop out as she disappeared. It was hot, the fire dried out his skin before the sweat could even run, and the two men were black husks, still impossibly standing, barriers in the hallway between him and Beckett.

She'd gone into the farthest room and-

Fuck. She was going to climb out the window.

What had she yelled at him? He hadn't been able to hear, but her only chance, the only shot she had was getting out through that room.

Castle turned and flew down the stairs, smelled the oil on his hands and clothes, felt the way it burned as the heat of the fire evaporated every drop. And more - it was all through the house, the big drum of it downstairs. He'd seen munitions stored behind those work stations, and who knew what else was in this place.

The guard was finally dead.

Castle leaped from the bottom step and over his body, hit the floor at a run and went straight out the front door. He could see smoke already pouring from the fourth floor, heard people yelling from close by.

He oriented quickly and raced around the house, heading for that back room and its window, prayed there _was_ a window, that they were as in sync as he'd thought they were, and then came to a dead stop at the side.

Uh-oh.

A squad of guys was heading for him. Four, and armed, looking pissed and intense. He fell back against the house and checked his gun, pulled the one he'd taken off the guard out of his holster.

He took a breath and then lunged forward to engage the enemy.

* * *

Let him not be stupid, she thought. Let him just _think_ for one second.

She slammed the heavy wrench against the painted-shut window, felt it vibrate deep in her bones. She clenched her teeth and tried again, the glass stronger-

It cracked and splintered, and she pulled her coat sleeve over her hand and smashed against the window repeatedly until every last shard was gone.

Cold air rushed inside, cleared out what she realized had been a lot of smoke. She coughed in the sudden gust and leaned her head out.

Fuck.

She jerked back inside and closed her eyes, heart pounding. Four men. Directly below her. She scraped a hand through her hair and smelled the linseed oil, cursed as she heard the house moan and shift in the flames.

The third floor below and the attic above had to be on fire by now. She'd thrown a handful of rags up the pull down stairs that led to the attic, so it'd catch quickly, undetected in an unused space.

Now she hated her forethought.

How long before it raced over her head and collapsed the ceiling?

She eased back to the window and her heart caught in her throat. Castle.

Holy shit.

Castle.

One man down already, a second clutching his throat. Hand to hand with a third, the pop of a gun, and his body bucked-

Kate cried out, but it wasn't him; the other man went down, red blooming across his coat, and the fourth was already shot - she'd missed it, but he was collapsing to his knees, and then Castle brought the weapon to bear on him and fired.

She stared, heart caught.

He turned the gun back to the man rolling in the mud below the house and he fired. Another shot in the man clutching his throat.

All four dead.

Castle lifted his head to the window and saw her.

"Beckett!"

She was snapped into movement by his voice, leaned out to check her options. No drainpipes, no access to the roof, just a straight drop down.

A crash sounded behind her and she turned to look over her shoulder. Flames had breached the door and the fire seemed to grow and rage like a monster. The fresh air from the window was fueling it, a greed consumption of the room.

She pushed a leg out of the window, straddling the sill, leaned out wider for a clean breath, a look around, searching for anything that might get her down.

But she was stuck.

Behind her, the ceiling collapsed.

* * *

He saw the roof cave in and his heart stopped beating.

Beckett yanked her other leg out over the window and leaned so far forward that he thought, for one terrible second, she was going to jump.

Rope. Fuck. He needed a rope of some kind. Something.

"Beckett," he yelled up.

She was gripping the window sill with her hands, her shoulder pressed against the frame to keep her from falling out, and she was coughing. Coughing so hard she leaned and swayed with every spasm.

"Beckett, stay there," he shouted. "I'm gonna get you down."

She kept coughing, but her grip was tight, her eyes flashed to his and then away in what he hoped was understanding.

Castle raced back the way he'd come, snatching one of the dead men's weapons as he went. The shipping yard was just past the front door of the converted house, and he ran for the metal storage shed located outside the chain link fence.

An explosion from the house threw him off his feet, knocked him sideways. He landed hard on his elbows and hip, his teeth rattling, but he rolled back to his feet and charged forward.

He couldn't bear to look at the house. Rope. He needed rope.

* * *

Kate trembled on the edge of the windowsill, her back blistering with heat even through her coat. She couldn't feel her fingers, but the pain of the fire was so intense, she might have to drop out of the window.

She sucked in a smoke-riddled breath, coughed harder as it swirled around her. Her spine arched as she felt a lick of flame, like her coat had suddenly been burned through, her panic cresting again as she remembered the linseed oil soaking her clothes.

Oh, God.

Kate turned slowly in the window, closing her eyes as the flames seared her face. She shifted one hip off the windowsill, her stomach plummeting and the open air below her, but the fire was close enough now that she could smell her hair burning.

She braced herself on one elbow, grateful that her coat shielded her arm from the worst of the glass, and she let other hip leave the windowsill.

She gasped as her other elbow caught the frame, her knees thumping against the side of the house, hips at the bottom of the window. She buried her face against her coat sleeve as the heat scorched her skin. She sucked in a long breath, and opened her eyes, saw the crumbling wood of the frame and past that, the inferno inside the house.

She couldn't stay like this long. Already her forearms were angry and muscles strained, her exposed skin licked with pain. But if she dropped and dangled by just her hands, she'd fall sooner. And could her fingers take the intensity of the heat any better?

She felt a shudder run through the house and pressed her face down farther into her sleeve, nearly into her armpit, one ear screaming with pain, her neck exposed and raw.

And then the shudder again, closer this time, and she realized it felt like something hitting the house-

"Beckett!"

"Ca-stle," she croaked back, had to let one elbow drop, her hand and forearm and shoulder ablaze with a litany of pain.

"Beckett! Hold on. Just hold on for me."

She twisted her head against the wood siding of the house, tried to open her eyes. Her shoulder was being wrenched painfully, one elbow and forearm planted against the windowsill, and her other hand useless and dangling. She couldn't even lift it back up.

"Beckett, I'm coming. Hold on. Just hold on."

She peeled back her eyelids.

A ladder.

Oh, thank you, God.

* * *

He caught her ankle first, wrapped his fingers around her leg and pulled her body towards him on the ladder. He heard her bit-back groan and finally got his arm around her waist.

"Drop," he commanded her.

She let go and sank between his chest and the ladder, a shudder running through her body, and he carefully eased back from the rungs, let her weight come down on his bent thighs.

"Just like the hayloft," he murmured in her ear, winced at the smell of her hair and coat - singed and crisp. She'd been dangling out of the window when he'd finally gotten back with the extension ladder, and then she'd dropped to just one forearm by the time he got the ladder up.

She probably had first degree burns, blistering at her exposed skin and hands. He tried to be careful, easing them down the ladder one rung at a time. She seemed sensible, with it, but her hands were cradled against her chest, her breathing hard.

"Beckett," he murmured.

"I'm okay," she said, her voice hoarse.

He got a foot to the ground and wrapped his arm around her waist, stepped down all the way. She swayed but remained standing.

He stared at her for a moment, his heart in his throat, and then she pushed forward into him. "Gotta get out of here, Castle."

"Your hands-"

"Fine. They'll be fine. Just - raw."

He gripped her by the elbow and turned, felt the ripple of muscles run through her body as they moved. She pulled her arm out of his grip and he glanced back at her in surprise; she shook her head.

He reached for her arms and pulled them away from her chest, saw the angry, red streaks at her wrists, pushed her coat sleeves up as far as they'd go only to see more raw marks.

"Scrapes," she said quickly. "From the window. And the glass."

Shit.

"Go, Castle."

He nodded and released her, pulled the dead man's semi-automatic around from his back where he'd slung it over his shoulder. "We'll go through the alley."

"What about the shipping containers?" she said, following closely. "Half the mission is to destroy the shipping containers."

He groaned. "No. You're hurt and-"

"Castle. Complete the fucking mission or all of that was for nothing."

He glared over at her, but her eyes were brittle with dangerous fury.

"Fine. Fuck. Okay. You go back to the hotel, you hear me? I'll take care of the shipping containers."

"I can-"

"No, you can't. Here, take this." He handed her the weapon that had been in the bag in the storage locker, watched her painfully close her hands around it. "Put it in your coat pocket - just in case."

She winced and pushed it into her pocket.

"You'll have to walk back. There's a first aid kit in my bag in the hotel." He reached down to his boot and snagged the phone from inside. "Here. Call the emergency line - do you remember the number?"

"I remember," she growled back. "But you keep the phone. I'll get myself a new one."

"You call the line and they'll bring you whatever you need. Even a doctor." He slid it back down inside his boot, his hands flexing over the semi-automatic slung over his shoulder.

"But you'll be right behind me," she said insistently.

"Of course. We'll rendezvous at the hotel in an hour. If I don't make the hour deadline, you go to the airport and take the first flight to Rome."

"I'm not leaving-"

"That's an order. If I'm being followed, if someone comes after me for this - I'm sure as hell not leading them back to you. Just as I wouldn't compromise anyone else on my team. You hear me? You get a flight, and I'll follow you out when I can. Rome - where we got married."

He leaned in and kissed her hard, careful not to touch the raw places at her neck. When he pulled back, her eyes had hardened. Good. She'd do what needed to be done.

"I'll be right behind you - I just have to blow the containers first."

She paled and glanced back to the house - the roar of fire, the floors collapsing, the skeleton frame showing.

"Castle," she moaned. "The bag. With the timed devices-"

He grit his teeth and pushed her towards the alley. "I know. Didn't you feel one go off? The others will soon."

She shook her head and stared back at him. "Come with me. Don't-"

He glared at her. "Go, Beckett. You were right. It's all for nothing if this cargo doesn't go up as well. I'll see you in an hour."

He pushed on her again and this time she took a step towards the alleyway. He nodded and turned from her, putting her at his back, and then he heard her quick dash across the pavement towards the warehouse door.

She'd be fine.

He could still do this.

Complete the mission.


	7. Chapter 7

**Close Encounters 5**

* * *

Her coat had actually kept her from the worst of the flames, she realized. But when she took the coat off, the back of it smelled funny, looked singed, holes burned through like cigarettes had been held to the material. Walking to the hotel without her coat might be better than wearing it looking like this.

She checked the pockets, pushed the gun into her waistband, and then dumped the coat in a trash can. She'd left the fleece at the hotel, but she was wearing a thick sweater; it'd work for now.

When she raised her sleeves carefully, her skin was covered in welts, bleeding in some places. Just moving her shoulders made her back ache fiercely, but her coat had taken the brunt of the fire. Her neck and the exposed part of her face were raw, but it felt more like a sensitive sunburn than open wounds.

Her hands throbbed, hot, but the cold air was a sighing relief. She kept her arms crossed against her chest and walked slowly down the waterfront, keeping her eyes open for Roamers from Foley's group or anyone paying too much attention.

Her wrists where her coat sleeves had pulled up were raw as well. The sensation was oddly like that of being handcuffed and yanking too hard against the restraints - just chafed and broken skin. She could handle that. She'd _done_ that.

She should probably put the gun at her back, but the thought of it made her break out in a cold sweat. It wasn't safe to keep it in her waistband anyway, but she'd just have to hold her arms close to keep from drawing attention to the bulge.

She was only halfway back to the hotel when a massive explosion behind her went up in a fireball of angry red flame. She stumbled against the railing of the boardwalk and turned to look, felt it even from here - the heat and the shock wave.

Castle had done it.

She prayed he was far, far from there when those shipping containers had gone up.

She kept walking, going a little faster now; she wanted to clean herself up before he could get a good look at her injuries. When the Marriott finally came into view, she could've wept with relief.

She scraped her hair back, still reeking of linseed oil, and fished her keycard out of her pocket. She was glad she wouldn't have to ask for one at the front desk; she swiped the card at the side door and it let her in at the stairs.

Kate started upward, her whole body shaking.

* * *

She carefully peeled her sweater off her back, winced as the material separated from her skin. Her sweater was wool, but clearly a percentage had been synthetic, because it smelled like burnt plastic and had sort of melted against her skin.

She twisted around in the bathroom mirror to look, holding her breath.

Not too bad, actually. Angry red that tapered to pink, but none of the white of blisters. It took some contorting to get the burn ointment on every spot, and she had to put her hair up on top of her head to get at her neck, but she'd be okay.

Her hands ached, but she kept flexing them, didn't want her fingers to stiffen up. She worked the ointment into her skin and made herself look at it carefully, make certain they weren't damaged.

She threw her clothes into a bag and peered out the door. She was just in her bra and underwear, but the trash room was right down the hall. Beckett slapped the metal privacy lock across her door and darted out to open the trash room. She threw the bag inside, and then went quickly back to their room.

She shut the door again, took a deep breath, and then pushed off to stalk towards the bed. The first aid kit was a mess, so she straightened it up, put everything in its place. The ache in her neck was beginning to make itself known, and her hands were still sensitive, but her back already felt better. She rifled through Castle's backpack for her change of clothes, pulled on jeans and a white v-neck shirt, left the flannel shirt off for now so her skin could get some air.

She checked her father's watch for the time.

He had twenty minutes.

But that explosion had been nearly forty minutes ago.

Kate left out the clothes she'd need to wear on their flight to Rome, pulled out a change of clothes for him as well, and then set about repacking their gear. She found ammunition and a holster for the gun he'd given her, so she reloaded it and left it on the bed.

Just in case.

* * *

He was late.

It was creeping up on eight minutes past, and she knew he would've already been here if he was going to make it.

She took a long breath and buttoned up the flannel shirt, pulled the sweater on over her head, her hands steady and sure. She'd already made her decision - it wasn't a decision at all - and she slid the fleece on next, zipped it to her chin so that it would cover the raw places at her neck.

She pushed the gun into the holster at her back and moved carefully for the backpack, eased it over her shoulder.

She had on her boots - they'd been fine - and the fleece and sweater would keep her insulated enough for now. She could buy a new coat at the airport.

Later.

Beckett stepped out of the room, leaving the keycards inside, carrying everything they'd brought with them in his backpack.

She wouldn't check out at the desk; she'd do it online at one of those stations in the airport lobby.

Later.

After she went back for Castle.

First she needed a cell phone.

She was going to have to call the emergency number after all.

* * *

Castle groaned and tried to figure out where he was.

Even when his eyes opened, the darkness was absolute, and his ears were ringing from the explosion. He tried to move and found himself restricted - chains. He was fucking tied with chains to the floor.

Shit.

He couldn't remember. He'd found C-4 in one of the shipping containers, had fashioned a few impromptu explosive devices and then. . .his lack of memory suggested they'd gone off spectacularly well. One of those shipping containers must've held some crazy fireworks.

The ringing in his ears was intense, piercing, and when he closed his eyes, he realized that he felt nauseous. His body was pitching up and down, probably because he had no inner ear-

Oh, damn it. He was on a fucking boat.

This was going to be impossible.

* * *

She picked up a phone at a nearby Radio Shack - or the Copenhagen equivalent of one. Same design to its sign outside, or the same colors at least, and she stumbled through the exchange with a smattering of French - of all things.

She bought a prepaid phone and called the emergency number on the card.

"Thank you for calling the Copenhagen Hotel. Hours of operation are-"

Beckett pressed the four digit code and hit pound, waited for it to ring through. She kept walking, one hand on the strap of the backpack, and roamed the waterfront walkway like a tourist. Hopefully.

It connected after a moment.

"This is the Copenhagen Hotel. Did you need to book a room?"

"No, actually. I need to speak to the manager." She didn't know if that was even correct, and there was such a long pause that her hand began to sweat. "This is Mermaid. Sailor has been - lost - and I need to speak to the night manager."

"Mermaid? Ah, one moment please."

She licked her bottom lip and lifted her shoulder to relieve the sting in her hand; the phone pressed tightly to her ear, and she prayed that this was correct. She wasn't supposed to ask for a personal connection on the emergency line; she was supposed to book a room and then she'd be given instructions on where to go - that was all.

The line clicked and rang again. She leaned against the railing and stared out at the waterway. She could actually see the statue of the Little Mermaid from where she stood, the woman poised on a rock, her tail feet tucked under her, her head turned to the sea. Waiting.

A voice came over the line.

"Beckett."

Shit. It was his father.

* * *

She endured his interrogation, the phone pressed to her ear, and tried to ignore the cold fury coming at her to give him actual information he could use.

"Are you certain his phone is on him?"

"When I left him, it was," she gritted out.

"When you left him," Black repeated.

Her nostrils flared. "Can you trace it or are you going to hassle me for following your son's own instructions?"

"We're tracing it right now. I'm getting the coordinates." There was a flinty pause. "It's. . ."

She smothered the curse that sprang to her lips. "Where? Where is he?"

"The signal's stationary, but it's technically. . .in the channel."

In the channel? Her mouth went dry and she leaned her elbow to the railing, pressed her free hand to her forehead. "In. . .the water."

"Yes."

"Send me the coordinates."

"Beckett."

"I'll find him."

"The phone's been tossed. You have no way of-"

"It wouldn't be _working_ if it was in the water. He had it down his boot, so I bet they didn't find it on him. It's got to be on him." In the water. In - no, _over_ the water. "A boat. It'd be a boat, or a barge. Send me the coordinates and a map to this phone."

"It's an unsecured line-"

"Send the coordinates, Black, so help me God-"

"He told you to get on a flight," Black said coldly.

"I'm not leaving. I won't leave. Send me the damn coordinates."

There was a dark and long pause and she stared out over the water, willing him to bend. Anything she said in Castle's defense, anything she said in her own - it'd never work. He had to _want_ to do it.

"You don't know what Agent Castle can do in the field. He may have encountered an obstacle, but he'll-"

"You were the one who said I compromised him. You were the one who said I made him weaker," she said fiercely, her heart pounding hard. "You really think he doesn't need saving?"

"I have a ground team on its way. You can rendezvous with them in six hours-"

"Six _hours_? That's not good enough. You know damn well he could be dead in six hours."

She could hear him breathe, the growl in his voice. "You have the coordinates. I won't do this again, Beckett. You need to learn to follow the rules. This is the price we pay in this business, and it's clear to me - as it will be to him as well - that you're not cut out for this work."

He hung up, but she didn't even care. She yanked her phone away from her ear and checked the messages.

Her hands ached, her back was raw now that the ointment had dried, but Castle was somewhere out there, unable to get back to her.

She'd be damned if she took a flight to Rome and _hoped_ he'd make it.

Yes, he was good, but together they were better.

* * *

He groaned when blazing light hit his face, winced into the halo made by the beam. A hand pushed his chin up, probably to see if he could be identified, and the glasses were snatched off his face.

He was lying prone on a metal floor - hull of a cargo ship most likely - and the chains held his arms tightly behind his back, cut into his ankles.

An interrogation started in French (who _were_ these guys? he had no intel on a French addition to Foley's Copenhagen distribution network), but he ignored it, acted dumb. They wanted to know why he'd been in the shipyard, was he responsible for the explosion; they were going to cut his fingers off one by one if they didn't get answers.

Wait, no. That might've been just _snap_ his fingers off. Break them. Yeah, that was it.

The hand came back, fisted in his coat and yanked him upright. Since his feet were chained together, he reeled forward like a drunkard, let some of his momentum swing him wildly. The man cursed and Castle smashed his forehead into the man's nose, shoved on him hard with an elbow, and got a blow to the back of the neck for it.

He sagged, nerves numb and tingling, and a pair of hands dragged him backwards, body-slammed him into a chair. He rocked back, but he was steadied by one of the thugs, and then his arms were jerked over the back of the chair and tied.

Rope this time. Wet rope. He was on a damn boat for sure.

The chains around his wrists were loosened, pulled away, and he flexed against the rope to test it. He could hear the two guys talking to each other, angrily trying to figure out what to do now that their base of operations had blown sky high, something about first responders and fire trucks all over the area, and Castle used their distraction as an opportunity to shift in the chair and see if he had any give with his feet.

None. Bound tightly.

The French became more insistent, directed at him now, and still he pretended like he didn't understand, worked his hands against the rungs of the chair to get them loose. The first guy was screaming in his face, and he smelled rotting fish and salt, felt the phlegm hit his cheek. He twisted his wrist in the knots and his skin scraped raw. But almost. Almost. He almost had it.

_Why were you in the shipping yard? Who sent you?_

And still Castle ignored them, worked feverishly at the rope, the light burning his eyes.

Until the moment a meaty hand came around his fingers, the grip tight and crushing, and then that man behind him stroked along Castle's thumb, as if testing-

Castle cursed and jerked as his thumb was brutally dislocated, felt the sweat of agony spill out of his pores. Instead of being dazed and cowered, Castle used the pain and reared back, managed to smack his skull into the sadist's nose. The man collapsed to the floor with a moan. Castle breathed through the white-hot agony and used his dislocated thumb to jerk his hand free of the rope.

A roar like a grizzly bear from in front of him, and then the man gripped him by his hair and yanked him to one side, Castle's neck exposed.

He felt the blade at his throat and stopped struggling.

Broken English in his ear. "You speak. We cut."

Clear enough how this was gonna go.

"Fuck you," he growled back.

At that instant a gunshot rang out and the man in front of him had a hole blown into the side of his head.

He dropped like a stone, the knife clattering to the floor, and Castle jerked to one side, toppling himself in the chair. A second cluster of shots caught the finger-breaker behind him in the chest. Castle jerked one arm free even as the Frenchman toppled to the ground.

"Castle!"

Damn it. "Beckett?" he hissed, unable to get his legs free of the chains, his other hand bound up to the forearm with rope.

The light was shoved away from his eyes and he blinked furiously, but he still had spots burned into his retinas. He heard her boots against the hull as she came for him, and then her palm against his cheek, trailing down to his shoulder.

"Damn it, Beckett," he growled.

"Let me get you untied."

"Why the hell are you still here?"

"Because you are."

"Fuck. You were supposed to be on a plane."

"Like hell."

He growled and winced as she had to use both hands to scrape the chain down his ankles and over his boots. She had to twist his foot to get it loosened, and he flared his nostrils and endured until she had him free.

"My hand," he growled. "Untie-"

"What happened to your thumb?" she asked in horror.

"They did, now hurry the hell up, Beckett."

"You sure are bitchy when a woman has to save your life."

"I had it under control," he hissed. "You shouldn't even be here."

"You were getting your fingers snapped by two French thugs. You did _not_ have it under control. Now shut up and let me work at these knots. They're tight."

"Salt air does that," he said uselessly, drawing his knees up to his chest, sitting awkwardly on the floor as she dugs her nails into the knotted ropes. "How'd you find me?"

"I called your dad to track your phone."

"Shit."

"You're telling me. Thank God for the shoe phone."

But he didn't smile at that. "You should've been on that damn plane."

"You should've met me at the hotel like you promised."

"You're supposed to follow orders, Beckett. You can't go rogue out here; you can't make your own decisions about-"

"The fuck I can't," she growled, reaching out to smack him in the shoulder. "You watch me."

He growled again, but she'd just gotten the ropes loose and now she grabbed him by the wrist of his dislocated hand. He turned in her grip, tried to take his hand back, but she held on. He ignored the pain.

"It looks - you'll have to get it set," she said quietly.

"Beckett, love, we don't exactly have time for this."

"Shoulda thought of that before you started yelling at me."

He raised his eyes skyward and sighed heavily. "I didn't expect - or want - to see you here. But we need to get off this damn boat before their friends come looking."

"There was only one other. I shot him."

He stared at her for a moment, how casually she said _I shot him_, but he shut his mouth and nodded. She'd killed three people for him today - and two more in that house - and he knew it was going to hit her later. She was a cop, not a spy, and it was going to hit her hard as soon as the immediacy and the urgency of the day was gone.

Castle took his hand back from her, but he reached out with his good one and cupped her cheek.

"Thank you for coming back for me." He leaned in and gently touched his lips to hers, stroking his thumb over the corner of her mouth. "Now let's get off this damn boat and get out of Denmark."

* * *

She called his father back using the same exchange, asking for the manager and getting Black almost immediately. She reported her success and the deaths of the three men, and he asked for a written report ASAP.

And that was all.

Kate huffed as she ended the call, dropped her phone into the backpack. Castle was stretched out on the bed of a small room at the youth hostel in Copenhagen, the members of Black's ground team slowly trickling in, one by one, as they reported to their team leader.

The doctor had come and gone, shooting Castle up with a local and then popping his thumb back into place. He'd splinted and taped it, and then he'd left Kate with pain killers. She'd already forced half of one down Castle's throat and now he was sluggish and sleepy. And sweet.

She liked sweet. He'd been so taciturn and reserved when he'd been on drugs after the stabbing, and he hadn't taken them for long.

The ground team's leader deferred to her judgment about their next movements, and slowly the four men prepared to leave in stages - one with Castle and Becektt the next morning, and the other three in staggered intervals after that. She felt more settled having a team of boys listening to her for answers; it felt like home, like the 12th precinct. One of the guys even reminded her of Ryan with his quiet nature and quick smile.

The team leader said good-night and left Beckett alone with Castle, finally. Their stuff had been repacked and the suspect items tossed in various places around the city by the squad guys. Beckett had a new coat, one she'd picked out herself online and which her Ryan-look-alike had bought for her at the store. Castle had new glasses, also courtesy of Ryan's Double, and the team leader had left a resupplied first aid kit with her.

She pulled her sweater over her head and carefully dabbed ointment on her back. It still felt like a bad sunburn, the skin hot to the touch and inflexible, every movement awkward and stiff. Her hands were worse off, but the doctor had given her a new cream to put on tonight. She'd have to wear gloves over it, sleep like that; it was supposed to help.

Castle roused on the bed and his good hand lifted to snag at her pant leg. She'd unhooked her bra to get at her back and of course that grabbed his attention; Castle seemed to be awake and wanting her.

Kate sat down at his hip, wiped the ointment off on her wrist since those were raw as well, and then shed her bra entirely. Castle was watching her, a kind of wall in his eyes that was the drug, and she leaned over him to press her lips to his forehead.

"Sleep, Rick."

"Crawl in," he mumbled.

"Of course," she said softly, stroking the hair back from his face. She stood again and shimmied out of her pants, draped one of Castle's white undershirts over her, letting the loose material skim her thighs. It'd be sticky in the morning, but at least this way if he wrapped his arms around her, it wouldn't hurt so much.

She smoothed cream over the back of her hands, inside her palms, made sure to massage it in like the doctor had shown her, and then she tugged on the thin white gloves the Ryan Double had bought for this very purpose.

Castle grunted and she looked up to find him watching her.

"What're you doing?" he slurred, but his eyes seemed to clear and really focus on her. "Don't need a prostate exam. But could be fun. We should-"

"Shut up," she laughed, and she slipped into bed with him, stroking his bare chest with her gloved hands until he huffed. "For the burns."

"Hands are burned?"

"Only a little. Not bad. Just to keep my fingers from getting stiff," she said softly, lifting up to kiss his chin.

"Mm, kay. I'm - not sure I can keep watch tonight. Your turn first, Beckett."

She pressed her lips together and stroked the side of his face. "The boys are right outside. No need to keep watch."

"Yeahhh," he sighed slowly, his eyes drifting shut.

Kate curled up on his good side, reached out to take his injured hand from his chest, cradling it between her own. The gloves felt strange and she didn't like the barrier between them, so she gave up and took them off, threw them to the floor. Kate went back to his injured hand and carefully held it. She stroked her thumbs down the splinted digit and pressed another kiss to the skin at his neck.

He gave one last sigh but he was already asleep.

It took her a long time to follow.


	8. Chapter 8

**Close Encounters 5**

* * *

Even in sleep, there were dreams.

There was no rest to be found.

* * *

The teeth-rattling percussion of bullets tore up the inside of the house, always just a little ahead of him, always around the next flight of stairs, always too far away for him to stop.

It was a dream; he knew it was a dream. But it went on.

Next the rush and heat of fire all around him, the flames leaping from wall to wall, eating up the distance, engulfing him. He cried out and ducked his head, turned his back to the conflagration only to find it had cut off his escape.

His hands burned, his face peeled and cracked, his body's molecules vibrated with the energy of heat, faster and faster, the wild dance of flames in his bones.

And then he saw her.

The form of her, the blue-white flame of her profile in the hallway, the melting wax of her skin down her cheekbones and the incandescent wick of the body he'd molded and shaped and worshiped with his own hands.

Kate.

And he screamed. And screamed. And there was no end.

* * *

The pond was still. The lake. It was not her father's water, but instead it was the ice blue of winter regions, the night spread out like a canvas, the smear of an overcast sky hiding all light.

The wind blasted sharply from the conifers, rattled her bones and made her curl inward, suddenly aware of her body as a frozen thing made of skin and scale. She was perched on a rock on shore, her legs bound with a sea-rope that tied and twisted and wrapped so tightly that she seemed more fish than form - cold and stiff.

Her hand was ice encrusted, frost digging its nails around her fingers and latching on, burrowing deep so that her whole right side was leaden and numb. In her grip was her weapon. She couldn't move it; she couldn't stop herself.

She was shooting a man.

He was alone at the end of the dock, not even looking, not even aware of her and the gun and her accuracy and how effortless and inevitable it was.

She was murdering him carelessly, and she could do nothing to stop.

Her gun hand aimed true and sent a hail of bullets out across the cut-glass lake, sharp and deadly, and his chest crunched with the impact, his skull shattering into frozen fragments that spun like crystals in the darkness, and then he was falling into the lake, falling back off the dock and down.

The exploding impact of his body against the surface made a mushroom cloud of water, and the arc of frigid wings bore him violently and forever down, so that the lake itself seemed to part from him, racing out and away from the epicenter of his drowning body.

The monstrous waves troughed deep and sinking only to crest like a raised fist and smash the shoreline, shuddering trees and land and sky in a seizure that shattered the ice around her hand and sent shards of it through her body like glass, all of her cut and bleeding.

She fell to her knees, pummeled by the ever growing waves, the massive ripples from that fallen body, and smashed down again and again and again by the consequential fist until the cold began to break her, the water filled her lungs, and she was not mermaid enough to swim, not woman enough to stand.

And it was only the one man she'd killed. Only the first one.

The others would come next.

And she would bleed of a thousand frozen splinters, drown in a hundred ceaseless waves.

* * *

He woke.

She woke.

He couldn't breathe without fire; she was shivering and trying to huddle into his flaming, sweat-soaked skin.

Air scraped his raw lungs and he jerked out of bed, fell to his knees insensible, felt her cold, so cold fingers on his shoulder, his neck, his arm, and finally her freezing body draping over his like a salve, soothing and cooling and relief.

They were on the floor, she was shivering over him, pressing her cold lips to his skin, and he let the night sweat pour out of him and her body soak it in, a process of transference that left him weak and numbed and blank.

He turned awkwardly and got an arm around her, listed into the side of the bed with her body draped over him, and he realized her teeth were chattering, her muscles twitching with cold.

"You too?" he rasped.

She nodded into his neck. "Thank God you were screaming."

He felt the mewling claw at his throat, wanting out, but instead he bit down, gritting his teeth, and rode it out until her stiff, cold body was the only thing he knew.

Cold. It helped that she was so cold, that there was no trace of fire in her.

"You're warm," she hummed, like that was a good thing, like she would stay here all night, fall asleep acting as his ice pack.

He could smell the rank odor of his sweat still wrinkling the sheets and he was content to stay on the floor with her, content to breathe in the winter mint of her skin and let the frosty fall of her hair brush against him like snow, numbing and delicious and cool.

She curled tighter in, her fingers at his neck, her knees pressing against his abs, and she was alive. She was alive.

She was alive.

* * *

When the winter melted from her bones, she had the presence of mind to rouse and curl her hand at his bicep, tug on him as she pulled back. He woke and jerked, but his eyes were sane, his mouth closed and not horrified, and she could put them both back to bed.

He breathed easier and though the sheets were still damp, they smelled of him, and she stayed close, still awake, while he drifted off. It felt like a sea, the rise and fall of his chest, and she remembered now the sway of her steps on that barge docked only five slips down from the burning house, the exploding shipping containers. She felt again the pitch and roll of the flat cargo ship as she stalked its deck and made silently for the hold.

She'd shot the man sitting watch in the pilot house - though not fatally. At least, not at first. When he'd rounded on her a moment later, attacking her from behind and driving his shoulder into her back so hard she thought she'd been broken, she had to kill him then. A snap of her elbow into his nose, instinctive from her training, had broken the bone and driven it upwards, piercing his brain. Then it had only been the humane thing to shoot him, end his life.

The two burning men in the house though-

Mistakes. She hadn't meant their bodies to go up like wicks.

She shivered and pressed her cold nose into Castle's ribs, felt his skin begin to firm, like it had melted down and was only now reforming, strong and whole again. He shifted in the bed to drape himself over her and she welcomed the weight and heat, let him block out the darkness beyond them with the shadow of his body.

Mistakes.

On the barge - even the two men interrogating Castle in the hold - their deaths-

He'd had a knife at his throat and a primal thing inside her had snapped, accurate and swift, shooting the man at a distance she didn't like to reflect on, and then turning in one movement to the man at Castle's back and dispatching him as well.

By the second one, some of her own police training had kicked in sharply, caused her to shift her gun to center of mass instead of a kill shot in the head, but it was too late. It was too late. She'd shot first and hadn't asked a single question and that was only exactly as the CIA had trained her.

There were no second chances. It was brutal and it was sudden, and it would've been Castle's death instead of the two men, and she wouldn't have done it differently.

She'd seen the knife at his throat and she'd broken. She had finally broken.

Even the heat of Castle's body over her now wouldn't solder her back together. Not from that.

"The fire - I thought you. . ." he rasped then, groaning, his mouth seeking hers in a terrible, burning frenzy.

She cried into his kiss, her tears stiff icicles down her face, and he kissed those as well, evaporating them one by one until her body was a wracked mess and his was frantic and pushing to claim her, a sheath of ice around a sword of flame.

She had set two men on fire.

She had shot three more.

* * *

Castle wasn't entirely pain-free, but he was definitely loose. He hadn't gotten much sleep, kept waking up to find Kate watching him, or accidentally disturbing her with his own violent nightmares. And when they finally got seated on the plane - first class, thank goodness - he felt like it was the first time he'd truly relaxed.

The plane lifted into the air like a shuddering beast, and they were finally on their way to Rome. The Agency had sent their few personal belongings from the house in France on ahead of them.

Castle swallowed slowly, the thick taste of cotton wool in his throat, wrapped around his head, the meds carefully keeping his hand from hurting. He felt it, he did, but it was like a dull ache at the edges of his consciousness.

"How're you doing?" she murmured.

He turned his head to her, an interminable process that finally allowed him to study his partner's face. She was hollow looking, her eyes shadowed, her lips pale. She had let her hair curl naturally this morning because the youth hostel had a common bathroom on their floor and she said she hadn't wanted to take up anyone else's time. It made her look somehow more fragile this way, more a girl.

"Rick?" She had an anxious cast to her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. Good. I'm okay."

She bit her bottom lip as she stared at him, then she reached over and took his good hand. The flight attendants were coming down the aisles with their carts, free snacks and sodas, alcohol and headphones for a price.

"You should get a drink," he murmured. "Relax you too. Or take one of my pills. Oh, yeah - that. Good idea. Take half a pill."

She laughed a little, shook her head at him. The laugh wasn't a good one though. He wondered how many nightmares she'd had, and what they were about. She'd been so cold that first time in the night, like ice against him, and he'd woken every now and again to feel her shivering or to see her eyes open on him.

"You should. . .should sleep," he said finally. "Get some sleep. Pill'll help."

Her fingers traced over the back of his hand, slowly, but she said nothing more. He closed his eyes and let himself drift on the current of her touch, in and out. He wasn't loopy, but he was a little slow. He was glad one of the guys from the support team had taken a seat on their flight, had their backs. He wasn't worth shit right now.

He heard Kate ask for a Scotch from the flight attendant, sighed in relief.

Maybe it'd take the edge off for her. Maybe she'd push up the armrest between them and curl in at his side and they could doze together while someone else took watch for once.

* * *

She had a second Scotch and that was when it finally hit her.

Her back eased and the pain in her wrists and hands and neck fuzzed over. She leaned her seat back and let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

She would make it. It was going to be fine.

He was alive.

From now on, they weren't splitting up like they had the night before. Day before. How many days had they been here, all said? Only thirty-six, she thought. She couldn't be sure. Copenhagen had only gotten four hours of sunlight, and it had thrown off her internal clock.

She needed to sleep. And she was cold again, her fingers chilled around the plastic cup, so she threw back the last of her Scotch and let it burn down her throat, pushing the cup into the pocket in front of her.

And then she turned to Castle and drew her knees up in her seat, pushed up the armrest so she could lean against him.

He was warm, and he was heavy with sleep, and her body was now unfurling with a strange and fluid oppression.

She sank into unconsciousness with a sigh of relief.

And her dreams were blank.

* * *

They said good-bye to their guard dog in the airport in Rome; he went on a connecting flight to Paris, where he was stationed, and they walked outside and caught a cab into the city. She asked the cab driver to let them out in a neighborhood with apartments for rent, and they wandered around for a few minutes, the dazzling sunlight and the worn stones like a new world.

She left Castle sitting on a wooden bench on Via Mariano Fortuny, and she climbed up a cobblestoned stairway to a garden of richly scented herbs. She found a furnished walk-up they could have for a week rather cheaply enough, and she went back to get Castle, both of them heading straight for bed when they made it upstairs.

She locked the door on a moment's second thought, and the act of closeting themselves inside the small, worn suite of rooms seemed the exact release she'd needed.

The place was gorgeous, more beautiful than she'd expected with its exposed ancient beams in the ceiling and a wall of stones that looked a part of history itself. The window in the living room/kitchen area overlooked a cliffwall of trailing ivy, while the bedroom had the garden view.

"Come crawl in," Castle called to her. Still she stood in the living room for a moment longer, the narrow space and low ceiling making her feel hidden and enclosed, safe. She turned her head to look at the kitchen, saw the gleaming but well-used stainless steel appliances, the old-fashioned ice box, and the farmhouse sink.

She'd love a permanent place like this. Exposed ceilings, the narrowness belied by the open floor plan and the wide windows. She could see herself living in a place like this. Natural wood, stone walls, modern furnishings mixed with a taste of eclectic and traditional.

"Kaaaate," he groaned.

She found herself pressing her fingers to her lips to hold back a smile, as if she didn't deserve to smile. But she thought maybe, actually, it was okay.

They were alive. And they were building something between them, something good and beautiful. They'd made mistakes, they'd failed each other - but not last night.

Last night they had managed to come through. They had saved each other. The cost was high, but she would pay it willingly.

She bent down and unzipped her boots, dropped them beside the couch they had rented for the week in the apartment from which they could pretend the world didn't exist. She padded in her socks across the wooden floor to the bedroom and let him see her smile.

Castle hooked his arm around her neck as she crawled over him and into bed, and she wriggled free only long enough to peel off her jeans and sweater. He groaned but attempted the same, and she had to lean over and unbutton his pants, help him get rid of his clothing. His shirt she tossed to the floor on her side of the bed, knowing that there would be nightmares again, she was sure, but she'd at least be able to reach down and cover herself in his warmth and scent. And hopefully not wake him.

Castle's splinted hand came across to her thigh, his free fingers coasting down to her knee. She carefully removed his hand and put his arm back on the mattress, out of the way. She didn't want to hurt him, even if the drugs were dulling his sensations. She skimmed her fingers over the hard muscles of his thighs, pressed her mouth to the ridge of one of his ribs, her thumb brushing over the spot where she spent her kiss.

He hummed in that lazy, self-satisfied way and he pushed his hand under the strap of her bra, drew it down, his palm hot against her arm. She lifted up his body and touched her mouth to his, light, teasing, artful. His fingers untangled from her strap to card through her hair, and suddenly she could see the intense and hopeful longing on his face.

She turned around, let him fiddle gracelessly with her bra, his fingers too careful of the pink spots on her back. She drew her knees up to her chest with her feet planted on the mattress, watched the blue sky outside the low window, the green plants still growing in February - a winter garden.

Castle slipped the bra off her shoulders, his mouth resting at the base of her spine and beginning to travel up. She waited through it, as patiently as she could, until she had to turn back around and wrap her legs around his waist and get closer to him.

He sighed in relief and his wide palms and broad fingers framed her body, pulled her down over him so that they rested chest to chest, belly to belly. His fingers trailed down to tuck under the waistband of her panties but went no farther, his breathing even and his mouth slowly relearning the dark and close places at her neck.

She whimpered when his tongue touched her skin, her knees squeezing his hips, and he let his hands draw her underwear down and off.

Slow was suddenly not enough, not nearly enough, and she sat up over him and lifted just slightly, just so she could get her hands on his boxer briefs and peel them down his legs.

He growled - lazy and inarticulate - and the reverberation of his want bounced around in her chest cavity like a hand fishing for her heart.

And then he was pulling her down again and she sank into him, everything else fading to the nothing it was. Just Castle, just him, and the love he poured inside of her frozen, cracked heart.

* * *

"Tell me your nightmare," she murmured, her head resting on her arm and her fingers up and playing with the hair over his forehead. "Tell me?"

"Everything's on fire. Or - no. First there's guns."

"Are."

He huffed and turned his head on the pillow so that her fingers trailed to the top of his ear. "Are guns. Look at you. Correcting my grammar. You wanna know the story or what?"

She had a little smile for him, and she was beautifully naked before him. No sheet, no strategic placement of arms or knees. She didn't seem to care.

He rolled onto his stomach and nuzzled his head deeper into his pillow. Her fingers resumed their trace at his forehead and back through his hair.

"Those two guys are running up the stairs. I'm in pursuit. They're going to - they have semi-automatic weapons and you have nothing but a few rags of-"

"Enough," she said, a downturn to her mouth, a shrug of her one shoulder - she was lying on the other one. "Obviously enough."

"How did you - no. Never mind. The dream. I'm in pursuit; I've got a gun but every time i fire it, they've moved up another flight. It's endless. Stairs going up and up. And then the fire."

"How many times did you wake last night?"

"Enough to stop counting," he admitted. She nodded because she knew, of course. She'd been awake for most of those times, he'd seen. He closed his eyes to the feeling of her fingers drawing through his hair, opened them again when the silence went on.

"And the fire. . ." she prompted then.

"You were on fire. I could see you burning."

Her mouth parted, eyes went dark. She cupped the back of his skull and leaned in to press her cool lips to his eye; he closed out of reflex and the touch of her kiss was like a balm, lovely and light.

"I dreamed that when I shot that man, I caused a tsunami," she said, her words fluttering against his eyelid. He opened his eyes and his lashes brushed her mouth. She drew her body slowly into his with a suppressed shiver and then her arm was around his neck.

"A wave," he prompted, needing to know.

"A wave that broke me. And the whole world. Into pieces. It was so cold; I was ice. I shot a man and killed him and I couldn't stop it. And sometimes he was you, sometimes he was one of the guys on that boat, sometimes someone faceless. He fell, you fell - into the lake like a fist and the waves exploded out and slammed down on me."

"You telling me you got beat up by lake water?"

She cracked then, a laugh pulled from her throat in a garbled and hysterical note. He felt himself smile against her temple and realized he'd managed to dissipate his own dream by making her chuckle. Worked both ways.

"I'm happier when you're happier," he murmured. And then rehearsed that again in his head and realized it wasn't right. "You make me lighter by being able to be lighter yourself."

"Oh?"

"I don't make sense. Did you give me the other half of that pill?"

She hummed and it was clearly a laugh now, one of her usual ones, the ones she didn't like to admit to. He released her just enough to stroke a hand down her sternum and let it rest against her thigh.

"I also - you do something to me when we're together."

"Oh, I know," she said darkly.

He laughed, louder and freer, more quickly too, and he could feel her smile as well as see it.

"You _do something_ to me too, Rick Castle."

He grinned, couldn't help the way his pride swelled, all of him really, and she slipped a thigh between his and wriggled closer.

"Let's do things," she murmured. "Until we can't anymore."

"You come up with the best plans."

"Don't you forget it."

He paused even as he went for her mouth, squeezed her thigh for attention. She watched him, a question on her face.

"I won't forget it, Kate. From now on. We don't split up like that. We stick to the plan; we stick together."

* * *

She sat in the sun on the wall surrounding the back patio, her bare feet on the stones, her arms hooked around her knees. In the shade, the air was a little too chilled for her, but she could stay right here, the light on her face, for ages.

"Kate?"

She turned her head and saw him come through the open doorway. He moved slowly to her spot on the wall, stroked his fingers through the loose wave of her hair, his thumb rubbing her cheekbone.

"Feeling better?" she murmured, letting her lashes fall as he cupped the side of her face.

"Mm."

Wasn't an answer, but she heard the contentment in it. A shadow fell over her body and she shivered, opening her eyes. "Outta my sun, Castle."

He chuckled and shifted to the other side of her, sitting down on the wall at her back. She hummed when he leaned into her and put his cheek against her shoulder blade; she could feel his body loose and easy and warm.

It was better like this too. The sun on her face and his heat at her back. She lifted her hand and scratched the top of his head.

"I'm hungry," he said, rubbing his nose into her shirt and putting his mouth at her shoulder.

"I'm not edible," she smiled.

"I disagree."

She laughed at that, hard enough that he had to lift his head. She turned and gave him a look; he shrugged, definitely pleased with himself.

"Okay, baby," she murmured, stroking her hand through his hair and leaning in to kiss his forehead. "I'll take you out. Buy you some lunch."

"Finally. Starting to think you were trying to starve me."

"Poor thing."

"You should be nice to me, Beckett."

"Oh, I should?"

He gave her a pitiful face, all puppy eyes and beautiful, down-turned mouth. She'd never seen him play it up before, not like this. His hair had flopped down into his eyes from her fingers running through it so much, and he was leaning in close, his chin on her shoulder, his mouth delectable and full.

She pushed on his forehead and he sat up, his hands coming to her upper arms and squeezing. The splint on his thumb was awkward against her shoulder and she laughed at him, stood up from the wall.

"Come on, Castle. Let's find lunch."


	9. Chapter 9

**Close Encounters 5**

* * *

When the phone rang in his boot - that sharp vibration against his ankle bone - he had to stop in the street in the middle of Rome and fish it out. Beckett broke out into a breathless laugh, leaning against the stone wall of the cafe they'd been about to enter.

He grinned at her then, saw the number on the screen. Redirected call from outside. Only one person that could be.

"Castle," he answered, leaning against the wall beside her, their shoulders nudging.

"Hey, man. It's Ryan."

"Yeah, Ry. What you got for me?"

He felt Beckett go still beside him, and when he turned his head to look at her, she had a deadly, narrow look on her face.

Uh-oh. Was he in trouble for this?

"I enlisted Esposito's help."

If Beckett was pissed about Ryan contacting him, she was going to be even more pissed that now both her boys were involved.

"You did," he said nonchalantly. "How?"

"Nothing top secret; I didn't take him inside the office. But we went back through traffic cams and video surveillance for the week after Montgomery was murdered."

"Oh?" Good idea. He hadn't thought of that. "Good thinking."

"Beckett's listening in, isn't she?"

"Yes. She's right here," he said, giving her a flickering smile.

"Ah, well, just listen then. We think we've discovered the day that Smith did something with that file. About two days after Montgomery died - and figuring in time for the mail - the very day after he received it."

"Interesting," he murmured.

"So then these past few months we've just been going through hours and hours of traffic cam footage-"

"That's a lot," he muttered, impressed with her boys all over again.

"You're telling me. But we think we've traced him to his final destination. It's a construction site."

Castle tensed, the heat of the Italian sun on his face, a potent reminder of just how damn far away he was right now. From the one thing that mattered to Beckett. The one thing he could actually do for her.

"Oh, yeah?"

She was giving him a steady and slow-burning glare. He knew they were going to have a fight about this before it was all said and done.

"But the builders lost funding, the construction company went bankrupt in this economy, and the work has been halted. It's been sitting there - abandoned."

"Perfect place," he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face and staring into the distance. "Look, I need you to just sit on this for a while. We need to be careful. And plan. Okay? We have to have a plan for this."

"I looked at some of the reports coming in on this guy's operation," Ryan said quickly. "I don't know if you know this, but it looks like the Dragon was a lot bigger than you and your father first estimated."

"Yeah," he said roughly, swallowing hard. "Yeah, it's becoming clear that it goes a lot deeper than we expected."

"Still, something like thirty percent of his day to day operations have been irrevocably damaged or destroyed. Did you see that? I think we've made pretty big inroads."

We. Castle wondered suddenly if Black had appropriated Castle's asset to run errands or knock on doors. Damn it. He'd have to talk to his father about that, make sure it was clear that her boys weren't to be involved.

"You're right," he said finally. "I don't plan on letting this one go. And Ry? You keep this to yourself, okay? About Smith. I don't want anyone to know. Not even Black."

There was a dark silence on the phone in which Castle could see the fierce indignation rising up in Kate. And then Ryan cleared his throat and agreed.

"I was thinking the same," he said quietly. "Espo and I - we got your back, Castle."

His chest tightened and he closed his eyes for just a moment. And then he was back on track. "Beckett looks like she wants to rip me a new one, so I gotta go, Ryan."

"You bet I do," she growled.

Ryan huffed. "Right. Okay. Look, it's six in the morning and I've been called in to a body, so I should go as well. When you get back - from wherever it is you are - we need to work on this."

"We will. All four of us," he said carefully.

"Good."

He hung up and turned to face Beckett's fury.

"Ryan and Esposito _both_?" she hissed.

* * *

They declared a detente for their lunch; it was _gnocchi_ Thursday with pesto and sage, and a spaghetti appetizer that was followed by meatballs for Castle and _abbacchio alla cacciatora _for Kate: floured lamb chops cooked in oil and vinegar and then spiced with garlic, sage, and rosemary.

The food was too rich, too good, for them to spend the time fighting, but she promised herself she'd rip into him later. Until then, she drank the wine he'd selected - a Cabernet Sauvignon - and savored every bite of her huge meal.

Maybe they'd skip dinner. Who needed dinner after this?

With her belly full and Castle looking sleepy across from her, the low light of the candle flickering inside the dim restaurant, she could almost forget that he'd had Esposito and Ryan looking into Smith. Almost.

And that they'd found something.

Her blood itched. But she was ignoring it. Dosing it with good red wine and even better food.

He paid the check with a company card attached to one of his various aliases, and she watched him sign his name in a scrawl. His poor left hand was in his lap, the splint out of view, and she wondered if the wine had helped at all.

"Let's take a walk," she said quietly, rising from the table and dropping her napkin over her empty plate. He followed suit, and she hooked her fingers around his pinky, smoothed her thumb over his injured one.

"You're mad at me," he said as she led them back out into brilliant afternoon light. It was refreshing after the dimness of the restaurant.

"I'm frustrated," she admitted.

"Ryan pulled Esposito in on it. And you know that man wouldn't do it for me - he does it for you, Beckett."

"Why does Ryan have anything to do with it at all?" she sighed. "Why have they been dragged into this?"

"Why wouldn't they? They were there for all of it," he said, sounding surprised. "Ryan helped me interrogate Maddox. He and Espo were approached by Smith. They're already in this, Kate."

She growled but turned her head and watched the little boy on the side of the road as he kicked a soccer ball against the wall. His mother scolded him from a window and he went around the side; she could hear the bang of the ball against that wall instead. More yelling. An endless dance.

"The more people that are involved, the more people get hurt," she said finally. She couldn't help but remember Eastman, who hadn't asked for his partner to get involved in his girlfriend's issues, who hadn't asked to be shot on a roof and die for a cause he knew nothing about.

"The more people involved, the better chance we have of getting him. The whole Northeastern CIA operation is involved in this. It's not just you and me, Kate."

"I don't want it to be _anyone_," she muttered, scraping her hair back with a jerky movement.

But he caught her by the elbow and pulled her to one side, his face stony. "You're gonna have to get over this idea you have that this belongs to you. This isn't _yours_, Kate. This is the security of our entire nation being compromised severely by one man with deep pockets. Not to mention the fact that Coonan was hired to kill four people that year - not just your mother. Their families are looking for justice too."

Her heart was ice within her chest and she jerked her elbow out of his grip. He just didn't understand. He never _got _it anymore. He always seemed to think that she-

"Don't you walk away from me," he growled.

She turned on him, shoved hard on his shoulder. "Don't order me around, you asshole. And don't think you know what's going on in my head. Have I said, lately, that this case was _mine_? Have I tried to take it away from you? No, you arrogant son of a bitch."

His eyes flared, a rush of anger that only made her own burn brighter, clearer. This had been a long time coming; this was an old argument that she'd let go on for entirely too long.

She lowered her voice in deference to the boy and his soccer ball, the woman who'd yelled at him. "I have done everything you've asked; I have given over everything and I've stayed the hell away from it - and what do you do? You accuse me of being petty and selfish, while _you_ go around behind my back and enlist the help of my _team_ to do your damn dirty work. You think I don't know that there are so many waiting on justice? You think that doesn't eat at me, Castle?"

He growled and gripped her shoulders like he wanted to shake her. "Then why the hell won't you let me use every resource available? Why are you so damn pissed when I keep going back to it?"

"Because people _die_. People die and I damn well don't want it to be you." She clenched her fists to keep from letting out the ragged edge of grief that was building in her chest. "It can't be you. I don't think I could-"

She closed her eyes and focused on swallowing it down. She felt the soft touch of his fingertips across her cheek and struggled to not let it break her.

"Kate, we're working on this because it's the right thing to do. You need to let go of this responsibility you carry for it. Esposito, Ryan, the guys on my team as well - we do it because we know this kind of injustice can't be allowed to continue."

She still kept her eyes shut, breathing through the scent of his skin, the heat of him as he came close. His arm went around her neck and she laid her cheek to his bicep, trying to relax.

"It's not on you anymore, Kate. You don't do this alone."

"Eastman died," she whispered finally. "He died, and Castle - God, please - I couldn't-"

"Not on you, Kate. It's not on you. Oh, love. It's not on you."

She pressed her forehead against him and felt the wetness at her lashes, but still she wouldn't let the tears come. She was stronger than this.

"I don't want anyone else to die for this," she said finally, and she knew her voice sounded so broken. "No one else, Castle."

"You should just let me kill him," he sighed.

She choked on a laugh and wrapped an arm around him, grateful for the way he tried to bring her out of herself.

His lips ghosted over her temple. "I know you want justice, and we'll get him, Kate. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But we will put him in the ground."

But hadn't he been listening? She just wanted him.

* * *

They roamed. Romed.

He kissed her at the Trevi fountain and threw a euro into its massive basin while she pressed her hand to her mouth and gave him a smile that blushed. He curled his fingers through hers and they caught a bus to Sant'Angelo, and with her hair curling in waves around her face, the sunset bathed her in golden and glorious light.

They went back to the Archangel Michael and stood in the flame-touched light. Her fingers wriggled in his and he felt her ring against his skin, warm with her body, and she let go of him to take his injured hand.

"My fingers were too swollen," he said roughly, choking it out.

She nodded and he used his free hand to reach under his shirt and drag out the chain. His wedding ring dangled from it, spinning for a moment before it stopped, the silver cast cerise in the glaze of sunset.

She reached out and palmed it, slipped her finger through the much larger band, and then she leaned up on her toes and kissed him so softly at first, a light touch, before she pressed in harder, more intent, purposeful, until she was sealing them together.

* * *

Back at their rented apartment, they took the shallow steps up to the rooftop terrace and watched the stars come out slowly, few and far between. She sat between the vee of his legs and fiddled with his hand, felt the ring at her shoulder blade and pressing into the scar at her back. He kissed her neck and hummed against her skin, nuzzled his nose through her hair.

Honeymoon, part two?

She could do that.

In fact, she had the idea that this was what their life would largely look like - snatching a moment when they could, being together when their jobs permitted, intense and strong in their need for each other because one or both had risked death to get back to this.

Kate smoothed circles along the back of his hand with her thumbs, waited until she felt him shift and crowd into her, and then she untangled from him and stood up.

He stared up at her a moment, almost like he was confused, and then she held out her hand for him. A grin split wide across his moon-pale face and he took it, came to his feet beside her.

"Let's go to bed," she murmured.

* * *

She woke a few hours later, her body silvered in moonlight and his sprawled next to her. She realized she'd been jarred awake by a phone, somewhere, vibrating inside a hollow space. Kate curled onto her side and blinked through her sleep-haze, then she crawled slowly over Castle to snag his boot.

She had to grin when she pulled the phone out of his shoe; he'd most likely forgotten it in their absorption with each other. She checked the display and realized he had three missed calls and a number of unopened messages - and the phone was still ringing.

The number was blocked, but they always were when they came in on these CIA phones. She was afraid it was Ryan, so she answered.

"Beckett."

"Finally, someone answers the phone."

Ah, shit. His father.

"Get him."

"He's asleep. Drugged asleep," she answered. Even though it wasn't technically true. "I don't think I could. And even if I managed it, I'm not sure how sensible he'd be."

"It's a damn thumb - it's not like he broke his back. How much medication are you plying him with?"

"Enough to let him heal. What did you need?"

"When do you expect his coma to be over? There's an assignment."

"What assignment."

"You are not the senior agent."

She felt her jaw work and she grit her teeth to keep from growling at him. "My apologies. I'll let him know you called."

And then she ended the call.

But she did tap on the messages icon just to see-

It asked her for a password. Which she didn't have.

She blanked his screen and tossed the phone back into the boot and dropped it to the floor. And then Kate laid on her back and stared at the dark ceiling, her eyes running the length of the wooden beam, as she tried to figure out what to do next.

Castle had to have been getting those calls all day. Ignoring them all day, vibrating against his ankle.

They needed to talk about this.

She rolled over in bed and saw his slack face, the soft lines of his mouth and the ski slope of his nose, those beautiful lashes and the flop of hair into his eyes. She reached out and softly stroked her fingers through his bangs, pushing them back, trying not to wake him.

If he wasn't answering, he had a reason.

Let him sleep. Let him heal.

And then they'd go.

* * *

Castle woke to the sound of his phone vibrating and he jerked upright, grunting as the pounding pulse of his thumb made itself known as well. He leaned over the bed and snatched the phone out of his shoe, glanced over his shoulder to make sure it hadn't woken Kate.

She was curled up facing him, lashes against her cheeks, hair flattened with sleep, and thankfully still out.

Five missed calls and thirteen messages. He pulled up the message app and put in the numerical code, whistling softly when he saw the news.

Kate stirred but he was too stunned to realize it was his fault, and then she woke up and curled an arm around his thigh.

Cairo. He was supposed to _be_ in Cairo. That was supposed to have been him.

He stared over at her, and her eyes opened.

"Rick?"

Black had sent Danvers to Cairo instead of him. It should've been him - strung up and set on fire.

Castle's body canted into hers in a moment. He gripped the back of her neck, pressed into her for a brutal kiss he couldn't quite control. His teeth scraped her lip, his tongue pushing hard, and she mewled against his mouth and unfurled into his body, biting back.

He broke from her, breathing hard, realized he'd tangled the splint in her hair and his thumb was killing him, and Kate was staring at him like he'd attacked her in the best possible way.

"Rick?"

"You saved my life," he gasped. "You saved my life before I even knew."

* * *

Kate sat up in bed next to him, cradling his good hand in her lap as she took the phone from him. He looked bewildered, like he had no idea what to think, like the knowledge itself was alien.

She read the messages slowly, scrolled through and skimmed the various reports he was still getting alerts about. The CIA's undercover operative in Cairo - not the head of the bureau he told her, but a guy who was off-the-book and mostly dark - had somehow been discovered by a violent faction. And then executed. His body was strung up and burned in effigy. The riots seemed unrelated to Danvers's death, though it had certainly fueled the fire.

"I was supposed to be there," Castle said quietly. "That was supposed to be me. But I asked for a sabbatical instead. I wanted - I wanted you."

She lifted her head and stared at him, her guts churning. "You refused a good assignment just to - even back then?"

"You saved my life," he whispered suddenly, and her heart broke open.

Kate wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body against his, aligned just right to feel the slowing beat of his heart even as hers still pounded with fear. "You'd have been smarter," she said fiercely. "You'd never have been discovered."

"Never know."

"I know."

She didn't know. She just wanted it to be true.

* * *

Castle skimmed his fingers over her bare skin, his splinted thumb catching on her ribs. He could feel her suck in a breath and her thighs tighten around his waist. Thankful, she'd said, let's be thankful; we're alive.

He had liked how very thankful she could be.

Oh, he'd liked - wow - he'd loved how thankful she could be.

He pressed both hands to her back and drew her closer, tighter, deeper, and she shivered and clutched him, her breath coming hot against his neck. The sheets were pushed off the bed, the pillows gone, but he braced himself against the headboard and showed her just how thankful he was too.

She'd saved his life just - just by existing. In her very existence, she'd rescued him.

He lived because she lived. Not just because he'd avoided an assignment that had proved fatal, but because his world was so much wider now, filled with so much more now that she was in it.

And he wanted the world. He wanted every dream in it, and every vision of the future. He wanted it for them because she lived, because he lived.

He was going to make it happen. He didn't care what or how or when - he was going to make it so they could have whatever they wanted - safety, and peace, and family, and love.

The dog. Kids if she wanted kids. Justice for her mother. He'd do it right, the way she wanted it done, because she deserved it and more. Everything. The world was not enough. Every star in the galaxy and every mystery of the universe.

"More," she breathed, a hitch in her voice as he touched her. "More, Castle."

"Yes," he groaned, pressed his mouth to her shoulder. "Anything. Anything, Kate."


	10. Chapter 10

**Close Encounters 5**

* * *

They'd taken to lounging in the living room in front of the wide window that led out to the garden, warmed by the Roman sun but out of the cool, February air. He had the splinted hand up over his head on the couch, eyes closed.

She was sitting against the couch on the floor with her head at his hip. He stroked his fingers through her hair as he lazed, the touch drugging and sure. She loved him. She wanted him to - what? She didn't know.

"You haven't called him back," she said quietly, turning to watch him stretch in the sunlight pouring in.

"Hm?"

"Black."

His eyes opened slowly, blinking at her. She tilted her head into his hip and drew an arm up to stroke his forearm. His finger lifted to touch her cheek.

"You don't have to - I'm not - I know there are policies and rules I don't know about. But I just wondered. I like knowing what's going on," she admitted, adding a self-deprecating roll of her eyes.

He grinned back, nudged at her cheek as he shifted on the couch. She took that as her cue to sit with him, settling in at the other end, their legs tangled together.

"Black wants my official report, and yes. There's another assignment. Clean-up. Those guys on the boat were French, and there's a lead on who might have supplied Foley the muscle. I don't know the details - but it could be as sedate as running some surveillance or as intense as taking them out."

"Like we did in Copenhagen," she said seriously, wishing she didn't have to pry so very much. Wishing he'd just come out and tell her.

"Actually, let's hope it's nothing like Copenhagen. That was a clusterfuck."

"We did all right," she said, pushing on his thigh with her toes. "My first real assignment, Castle. Don't ruin the afterglow."

He laughed at that, eyebrow quirking up in a gesture she recognized as her own. She liked seeing it on him. "All right. You made some tough decisions on your feet, used the resources at hand. You are a valuable asset to my team."

She narrowed her eyes at him, dug her toes in a little higher.

He yelped and caught her by the ankle. "Scout's honor," he laughed. "Seriously. It's CIA-worthy stuff you've got, Beckett. And my report will reflect that."

"I didn't mean to set the house on fire."

"No, well. We _had _meant to though. You just pushed up the timetable. No harm, no foul."

And while it was sweet of him to say so, she thought there was actually quite a lot of harm that had been done that day.

Still. "You're not - keeping us out of the field on purpose, are you?" she asked.

His face turned serious, his eyes that stony blue-grey. "Yes. I am. Because if there's one thing you've taught me, Kate, it's that going at this job full-tilt, 24/7 doesn't do us any good. There has to be time to be - this. Us. To be real people again."

"But your job - our job-"

"Our job is to protect that way of life - the freedom to have that life. And we can't do that if we never get a chance to live it. We deserve it just the same as the rest of them. When I was bouncing from assignment to assignment, acting like the good little agent, I got trapped in the world of secrets and darkness, and there's no point to it if there's not a world of light and truth. Meeting you, knowing you-"

She sucked in a breath at the look in his eyes.

"-loving you, Kate. Loving you has been truth and light to me. And I want to be the same for you. So we take our time."

* * *

"You are the same for me," she was sighing into his mouth, her body draped over his. He felt a strange release in his chest, like something was breaking open, and he realized he really had been worried. Worried that his way of life brought too much darkness with it, that she already had such a terrible burden and he was adding the responsibility of the world to it as well.

"I think there's a lot we should be talking about," he said finally, stroking his good hand up and down her back.

She stiffened a little and drew away from him, but her hands didn't let him go, her fingers gripped the sleeves of his shirt and her legs were tangled around his thigh and hip like she had no plans to ever let him go.

"About what?" she asked.

He felt his throat dry up like he was inhaling flame and he dropped his hands to her waist and fiddled with the hem of her white tshirt. He wore black, she always wore white.

"About. . .the men who died. About how we approach assignments together - where we draw the line and how far we're willing to go. About my father. My - probably my mother in there somewhere too. And. Us. About us."

"We're good," she said quickly, then bit her lip and shook her head at him. "I think we're good. Are we not good?"

"I love you," he said honestly, shrugging. "I think we're about as functional as two dysfunctional people can be. I just want to make sure we know. . ."

"Our limits?" she supplied, but her face was serious. Good. She was taking this seriously. "You mean because I ignored your instructions to abandon you and went back to save you instead of getting on a plane to Rome?"

He saw the hard lines in her face and the rock-solid strength in her eyes. She would always - no matter how he put it - she would always come back. Never leave a man behind, but more than that, never leave him. And he didn't know what to say to that kind of foolish, dangerous love.

She started in softly. "As a man - as a boy who has been abandoned, Castle, I'd think you'd see the merit in that."

He swallowed hard and squeezed her hips, drew his splinted hand down to rest on the back of her thigh, needing the warmth of her skin through the thin layer of black legging. "As a boy who was abandoned, I accept that this is life, that this is how it goes."

"Not my life," she said fiercely. "And while I'm alive, it will never be okay."

He grunted and swiped a hand down his face. "While you're alive. That's - that is really my whole. . .issue."

"What?"

"I think maybe I just figured this out," he said slowly, blinking at the still beaming sunlight coming in through the window. "I think that's why. If you come back for me, what if that gets you killed?"

"You see what that means, right? What you've told yourself?" She brushed her hand down his chest. "To excuse your mother for what she did to you, you've rationalized that it must have been life or death. She'd never have left you to him, to Black, if she'd been able to save you."

He groaned and tilted his head back, cursing inwardly.

"Well, maybe that's how it was, Castle, but maybe it_ wasn't_. Maybe it's not life or death at all, coming back for you. I don't know what she was thinking; she won't tell us. But I do know what I think. If I leave you - if I abandon you - it's not just your life I'm forfeiting. It's our life I'm giving up on, ours. And I will never - I will _never_ - be okay with that."

Castle buried his face into his palm and took a breath, tried a deeper one, again, until he could breathe and his chest didn't threaten to collapse, his lungs didn't ache.

And then Kate was laying out over him, her body flush to his, her arms around his neck like she had to hold on tightly.

She pressed her lips to his ear and then his jaw, soft and undemanding.

"You can keep telling yourself that about your mother, Castle. I won't take that defense away from you. But know this about me. I love you and I will always come back for you."

* * *

He had seemed to accept it, she'd thought. He'd seemed to take that in and really finally get it. But as she laid curled into his side on the couch, she could practically feel him thinking. Overthinking.

And then finally, he spoke. "But there's more to it. If you come back for me and it kills you? If you die. Then that's abandonment too. Right, Kate? I know you know what that feels like."

She turned her face into his chest because she did know, she did. She knew.

"I can't promise to never die," she said. "And you can't either. So we're both guilty of that ultimate abandonment. But isn't everyone?"

He sighed and his fingers tangled in her hair, his nails scratching over the back of her neck. "Yes. That's true. But because of me-"

"No. It wouldn't be because of you. It would be the bad guy. The situation. This fucked up world. Not you."

"And if I died because of Bracken. If I'd gotten that bullet that was meant for me in the cemetery, Kate-"

"I get it," she gritted out. "I get it. But it's not the same. Okay. Well. It is. Can we both agree to work on our shit?"

He grunted, a kind of laugh in his chest that she felt against her ear and down into her bones.

"We can agree to work on our shit," he gruffed. "Here's how we do it. We work on your mother's case - together. And we work here on assignment-"

"Together," she finished. Okay. Yeah, that's - that was where they were with this. He was right. They had to just. . .

"You trust me," he said. "I trust you."

"Is that a question?"

He grunted again, his arms coming around her shoulders and pulling her in tighter. He kissed her temple and hummed against her skin. "Not a question. But sometimes, I think we both - our actions sometimes say that we don't."

Could this conversation be any more awkward or vulnerable? She wanted to be honest, but it was hard to let him know these things, to peel back the layers, but at least she could press her face against his ribs and listen to his heart.

"Sometimes our actions don't," she sighed. "Sometimes - I think I forget that you're a spy."

He laughed hard at that, his body rippling with mirth, his arms squeezed tightly around her, until she heard herself again and pressed her lips together in a smile.

"You forget I'm a spy? That might be. . .the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

She chuckled and lifted up from his chest, realized that it was easier somehow. Now that they'd said all this. "I forget that we are, essentially, the same. We both risk our lives."

The grin dropped off his face and he nodded slowly. "We do. You're right. I guess I forget sometimes that you're a cop."

She laughed at that then, scraped a hand through her hair. "Okay. So we both forget how capable the other person is. Which is strange, honestly, because when we first met, Castle, I really loved that about you. How you can handle yourself - how I don't need to worry. You have my back and I feel safest with you there. Do you. . ."

"I feel safest with you at my back," he said quietly.

She reached for him and his fingers tangled with hers, a connection vibrant and intense and all the more amazing because it was true.

They were true.

* * *

He knew it wasn't over, that she hadn't gotten down to what she needed or wanted to say. Beckett was a woman with whom he had to dig, layer after layer like geologic time itself had pressed her down into this amazing configuration. The more he excavated, the more he marveled.

He squeezed her fingers and let go of her, gave her the room she needed to sift through her own issues, to process everything she felt, and to reach a conclusion. He could see her mind at work even as she slowly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, gaining time.

She was sitting at the other end of the couch, arms at her chest, knees raised, and when she lifted her head to look at him, her eyes were no longer so turbulent.

"You said the solution is to do this together. Bracken, these assignments. Bracken - I need you to know that I understand about this case. I know that it's more than just my mother's murder - that there are other victims, but also that this is now an investigation into a senator's criminal activities. That is goes beyond just my mother being stabbed in alley; it's not just her anymore."

That she wasn't fierce when she said it, that it was just a quietness and an acceptance to her voice when she spoke made her so very strong. He wanted to say something to that, but there didn't seem to be anything at all he could offer.

She dropped her eyes and her fingers stroked over the material of her jeans at her knee, around and around. And then she lifted her gaze to his. "What if - I let her down? My mother."

He stared back at her for a heartbeat and then found his voice. "You know what first struck me about you? Why I was so - caught up?"

Her lips twitched, hesitance climbed up her eyes. "Why?"

"Because you're tall."

She let out a little breath, eyes narrowing. "You had me restrained in a chair in interrogation, Castle."

"Still tall. You carry it so well - all of it, the grief and the quest. You use it to your advantage. Even sitting in a chair, you had me."

She worked her lower lip with her teeth.

He settled his splinted hand to her ankle, caressed the skin of her bare heel with his fingers. "We can't change what's happened to us. You can't undo being tall or your mother's murder. It's how you carry it that matters, Kate."

She gave out a long sigh. "I'm not sure I carry it all that well."

"I think you do. Your mom was important to you, your mom mattered. Her life mattered, and her death did as well. And I know you feel responsible for finding answers and delivering justice. You work to that end because you want her killer to know that her life mattered, to _feel_ just how much her death mattered. How important she was and is, even now."

She bowed her head for an instant and then she was leaning forward into him, her arms wrapping around his neck. He'd come to realize she pushed herself into him whenever she couldn't find anything to say, like the touch of bodies could release all that emotion that built up in them.

"How do you have all the right words?" she whispered, her mouth vibrating at his neck. "And where were you ten years ago when I was drowning in it?"

He squeezed her tighter for the young woman who'd had to scrape herself back out of the pit by her nails, the woman who'd had to unbury herself after she'd buried her mother, find some way towards resurrection.

"Ten years ago I was in darkness," he murmured, pressing his mouth to her temple. "Ten years ago I didn't have any idea how much I needed you, how very much I was missing."

* * *

"I'm exhausted," she grumbled, only to hear him chuckle. She swatted at his arm and he was turning them in the couch, putting her between himself and the back of it, his body close. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder and let out a little sigh.

"I know the talking wears you out, doesn't it?" He was laughing at her, wasn't he?

She pinched his side and got the chuckling grunt that made her feel a little better, and then his mouth was skimming down her nose to meet her lips.

That felt good, felt more in line with what she could offer, and she slipped her arm around him to press him closer, their hips aligned.

Aligned. She'd never been so aligned with someone before. Everything in her fit into the everything of him. They weren't the same, by far, but where she weakest, he was strong, and where he faltered, she picked up. Aligned.

Shit, talking about things actually worked.

That sucked. She hated talking. She'd rather bury it until it rotted and dissolved into nothing - maybe an odor, maybe the bones of it would hang around, but she'd be protected still.

But not protected like she was now, with him as her shield arm, with Castle back to back with her, strength at her weak side.

"Take a nap," he said suddenly, nudging his knee between her legs, both of them getting comfortable.

She hesitated, because she wanted to ask, but she knew it wasn't that important. Shouldn't be that important. Still.

"Wake me if you get up," she said finally, giving in to it. "I don't want to sleep if you're awake."

His fingers gripped her neck; she could feel the heaviness of his splinted hand at her lower back, holding her to him. She expected him to persist in trying to protect her, guard her; she expected him to refuse.

But he didn't.

"I will," he promised. "I'll wake you."

* * *

He had to get off the couch and move; his arm had fallen asleep and it was the bad thumb. Took some time to untangle his body from hers, but she was heavily asleep. It burned like fire as the feeling came back and he bounced on his toes to dispel the crawling pain as it worked its way down his arm.

He'd promised to wake her.

Castle leaned over and wrapped his hand around her thigh, jiggled a little. She pitched forward with a gasp he wasn't expecting, and he went to his knees at her side, squeezing her too hard.

"Kate?"

She blinked at him, pressed her hand to her face. "Bad dream."

"Ice again?" he murmured, hooking his arm around her neck and drawing her into his chest. She stayed perched over his knees for a moment and then got to her feet, his arms still clasped around her.

"Ice," she murmured. "And fire. Your dreams are bleeding over into mine."

"I shouldn't have told you-"

"Don't even," she said wearily, throwing him a baleful glance from under her lashes. "But now I'm more exhausted than I was. I might sleep until dinner."

"Yeah. Go lie down on the bed in there."

"You'll crawl in with me?" she asked, dropping her eyes and tracing her fingers across his splinted hand. "Just until I fall asleep."

"Of course," he murmured, had to swallow hard at the softness, the vulnerability of her body next to his.

He followed her down the hallway and inside the bedroom, her hair messy and her steps slow. She got to the bed and swayed for a moment, so he cupped her elbow and helped guide her down.

She didn't even say anything, she just scooted over and buried her face in the pillow. Castle slid his bare feet under the covers, this room chillier than the rest of the place since it was in shadows. He moved to wrap around her from behind but she turned suddenly and nudged him back.

"No, other way," she murmured. He frowned but flipped onto his other side and then felt her body press against his back, her chin at the ridge of his shoulder. Her arm came up around his ribs, high, and he tangled their fingers together, smiled to himself when she nudged her knee between his thighs.

He felt her pass out at his back in seconds, and he shifted a little to look over his shoulder at her. She was curled up tight, her mouth parted, and she was adorable.

He'd never had a woman be so much a part of him, so necessary to life. So integral that she fit into all his empty and broken places and made him whole again.

* * *

She woke slowly with the scent of him in the sheets, woke alone to the warm bed and the dark room. Her body felt light, rested, and she remembered her dream: the dog was asleep on her feet and Castle was sitting on the bed with her while they gazed at - what? Something small. They were filled up with it, this small thing, it rested against her heart like a hand, protective and warm, the feeling she had for it.

But it was already fading. All she saw clearly now was the darkness of the room and the sense of warmth surrounding her.

Kate sat up and stretched, felt her back pop and her shoulders shift into place. She slid out from under the covers and padded into the bathroom, shivering at the chill that came up from the tile. The shower cut on with a groan of pipes and she stripped off her clothes while she waited for the water to heat.

When she stepped inside, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes, felt the burn of water deep in her scalp, sluicing to the ends of her hair and down her back, coasting the surf of her body.

She was heated and loose and her skin began to tingle pleasantly, the strange sense of arousal flushing through her.

And then she felt the swirl of cool air as the door opened and she knew.

He'd been staring at her through the glass.

Kate smiled slowly and turned to look at him over her shoulder, his hair dark as the water caught him, his body wide and tall in the narrow shower.

"Rick," she hummed.

"You rested?" he gruffed, his hands already reaching for her.

"Why?" she said innocently, blinking her dewed lashes hard against the fall of water, watching him try to restrain himself. Not to protect her, not because he felt she was too delicate, but she knew it was because he wanted to prolong the sweet agony of need.

"Because I got plans for you, Beckett."

"Maybe I got better plans," she shot back, and then she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him against the shower wall.

* * *

"Better plans," he gasped. "Way way better plans. Shit."

She grinned and stretched in their bed, the warmth of his hand still at her hip like he had no idea where all his body parts were. His fingers bumped over her ribs as she moved, and then she turned into his side and settled close, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

Shower to the bed and then they'd fallen _off_ the bed and then-

He finally seemed to come back, his eyes focusing on her again, and he turned so that he completed the paranthesis of their bodies.

"You're amazing," he murmured then, a grin lifting the corners of his mouth. It just made her want to kiss him, so she did, leisurely and slowly, her fingers coming up to his chin as a touchstone.

When she shifted back, a drift of her body like she was only moving out on a ripple of their connection, he seemed to come with her, sliding in closer.

"I love when you do that thing," she murmured, felt her cheeks flush even as the words slipped out of her mouth.

"That thing?" he laughed, his breath fanning over her neck. She nudged her nose into him so that he came up for another soft kiss.

"That thing," she hummed back. "It's hot." She leaned in and pressed her mouth to his ear, whispered it to him. Not because she was shy, but because she liked the way he groaned, and then he grunted as if trying to control the sound's exit from his mouth, and she smiled wider and nipped his earlobe for it.

He had his eyes tightly closed when she pulled back. She grinned, biting her bottom lip until he could look at her again.

"You are - devious," he got out.

"And you love it."

"I really do."

She grinned wider and slid in close again, watched him gulp and stare at her, and then she merely patted his chest, kissed him chastely, and crawled over him to get out of bed.

He slapped her ass as she wriggled over him, chuckling and trying to make her fall. She got a foot on his chest and pushed off, making him grunt, and then she sauntered into the bathroom.

She was really starting to adore the hell out of Rome.

* * *

Rome was on his top ten now. Yeah. Totally. Rome and. . .and Beckett's apartment that one time with the hood. And that second time when _she_ had worn the hood. Wow, two of his top ten were Beckett and that damn black hood.

Okay. Well, honestly, Beckett was his whole top ten. And the next twenty as well. Even on their sloppiest, worst days, he and Beckett together were fantastic.

Loving her helped. Her loving him back with that honest and genuine intensity also helped. Yeah. He was getting soft now.

(Oh, but he remembered that time at Stone Farm, and how she'd been wearing his flannel shirt after and how her body glowed in the autumn light of the hayloft. And despite the fact that she'd still been in the process of recovering from a bullet wound, it'd been - she'd been - wow. Spell-binding. Intense. She was intense.)

Castle grinned and scrubbed his hand down his face, lifted up in bed to reach for his phone. He plucked it from the charger and checked the key encryption, just to be sure, and then entered his code.

Beckett was his code. Of course, no one would ever be able to figure out how the numbers he entered related to her - not even Beckett could - but he knew. He knew and that was enough.

Black had called again. Another dozen messages about Cairo and what was going on there. An alert from Deleware about his father trying to get in touch with him. And then a message from an FBI agent he didn't exactly know - a woman.

The FBI had partnered with the CIA in the Bracken investigation, but they hadn't been given the full information. They knew there was someone within the US operating an extensive criminal organization out of New York City and DC, but no one other than himself and Black knew Bracken's name. And well, Kate too, of course.

But this woman. This FBI special agent.

She had used the standard encryption but she had put Coonan's name as the subject heading.

He called up her message.

She had his attention.

* * *

When she got out of the shower, second one of the day, she toweled her hair dry and skimmed on underwear, walked out into the bedroom to find a bra and clean clothes.

He was in the chair by the window, his brow furrowed over his phone, doing that thing where he tapped two fingers against his thigh like he was memorizing details.

She moved to her suitcase - which she realized he had packed for her, it seemed another lifetime ago - and found a black lace bra. She let it dangle in her fingertips as she hunted for a clean pair of jeans and a shirt.

She felt his eyes on her and smiled to herself, lifted her head to look at him. He was studying her though, and not in the way that meant she could leave off looking for clothes.

"Rick?"

"Someone sent me some information. An FBI agent out of DC."

"Who?" she asked. She wrapped her bra around her torso and quickly hooked it, shifted it into position. He watched, as if only now realizing her state of undress, and as she stepped in closer in just her panties and bra, he gave her a satisfied grin.

His hand came to her hip as she shifted between his knees. Possessive, as always, but in that way she'd come to appreciate lately. The way he had of building a world around the two of them with just that claim, that sense of belonging. She joined him here in this place - where they were allowed to dream, where having a dog was possible, where marrying him in Rome meant everything.

"Agent Jordan Shaw," he said finally, his thumb stilling against her skin. She reached past him to grab the mostly clean black tshirt of his from the back of the chair, pulled it on over her head.

"Jordan Shaw," she murmured. "All right. What does she have?"

"She works as a criminal profiler. Serial killers mostly. She had those cases flagged - the ones we attributed to Coonan."

"Oh." Made sense. Coonan's murders for hire had been bound to attract attention somewhere. Or should have. "Does she have anything relevant?"

"She wants in on this. She thinks she has information that would be helpful to our investigation."

"About?"

"She doesn't say what," he sighed. "I don't want to get into a pissing war with an FBI agent."

"But I could," Beckett shrugged, leaning a hip against the arm of the chair so she could see the screen. She couldn't read every word, but she got enough to know. "Let me contact her. I'm field-status - so it's not like she's getting ignored. But I also don't have clearance to really get her that far up the chain of command."

"You're still a primary on the investigation," he reminded her, as if she needed reminding.

She reached out and smoothed her thumb at his temple, down to the start of his sideburn, the warm oil of his skin making it smooth. She leaned forward and kissed him softly.

"I'm not worried about my place in this investigation," she murmured then pressed her thumb to the lips she'd kissed, kissed him again.

He gave a little sigh and his hand trailed down her hip to her knee, a soft stroke. "Good. I think you contacting her would be ideal for us. You'll be able to figure out pretty quickly if she has anything worthwhile."

She nodded and sat on the arm of his chair, brought her feet up into his lap for balance. He wrapped an arm behind her knees and put his cheek against her thigh, kept scrolling through his phone.

She waited, carding her fingers through his hair slowly, letting him have a moment more to process, to switch his mind over to spy matters.

The sun was beginning to set, the room was full dark now, only the glow from his phone and the light trickling in from the bathroom. He was a beautiful man, made more so by his care and his love, his loyalty and his concentration. She traced the lines of his shoulders with her eyes alone, moved to the profile of his face against the blue night outside the window.

He looked older than she remembered when they first had met. Good and bad: he'd been through more with her, because of her, and it had aged him, but he'd also matured, become the kind of man who stood for something, a man who was gentle, a man that laughed.

She'd brought him both - the lines of worry and the lines of laughter. And if the anxiety was part of the joy, if they came together, then she could be - she was - she really was okay with that.

She was more than okay. She celebrated it; she was proud of it. She'd brought him ache, and grief, but she'd brought him love with it.

"Rick," she murmured, then cleared her throat and squeezed the back of his neck for attention. "Castle, honey."

He lifted his head at that, his eyes quick to focus. She leaned in over him and kissed him slowly, let it all reflect in the angle of her mouth and the slide of her tongue.

She nudged him away with her nose and cheek, stayed there to press her forehead to his, breathing in time with him.

"I love you," she said quietly.


	11. Chapter 11

**Close Encounters 5**

* * *

They had a dinner of cheese and wine and crackers, sitting on the bed together and playing stupid truth or dare games, laughing, Kate a little buzzed and asking him questions about the places he'd been. He never seemed to get the chance to ask his own, and then when he thought she was satisfied and it might be his turn, she was straddling his lap and kissing him, tasting of dark wine.

Her fingers were in his hair and then tangling in the chain around his neck, tugging, and he kissed her harder even as she pushed her thumb into his wedding band and brought her palm to his cheek. He could feel his own ring, loose and warm at his jawline, and the heat of her lips, the curl of her tongue. Her breath was fast and she was tightening her knees against his hips, rhythmic and seductive.

Castle skimmed his fingers under her shirt and followed her lead. She seemed to enjoy the kissing - a lot - and he was good with just touching her, letting his hands explore like he was seventeen again and waiting on the girl before getting a little more aggressive.

So they made out. He pushed her back to the mattress and did all the things he'd wanted to do before but never seemed to have the time to do right. Her shirt came off, but the underwear stayed on, alluring and captivating even if he knew exactly what was beneath it. Her mouth was wicked and amazing, and he pressed his hips into hers in relief and reward, loving the way she gasped into his kiss, the arch of her hips.

The intensity flamed out and left him stroking her sides with lazy fingers, her body sprawled on his now, her lips pressing little, sighing kisses to his chest, the pressure of her knee enough.

Castle carded his fingers through the fall of her hair, pushed it off her neck to drape over one shoulder. She'd pulled the covers up over them at some point, and the warmth trapped in their bed made both of their skin feel. . .supple.

Malleable. Like he could shape them any way he wanted, like he could fit her over him for always, like they'd melt into one person.

He realized after a moment that her fingers were playing with his wedding band on its chain, rolling it against his sternum, her thumb slipping in and out of its circle.

"Someday," she said softly. "Can you promise me that?"

"What?" he answered immediately. Anything. He'd promise-

"Can you promise me that someday. . .someday we'll do it right. Be normal."

"I am going to marry you," he said intently. "I _have_ married you. All it takes is a piece of paper now, and maybe a blood test, but I'll figure out a way."

She laughed a little and lifted her head, untangling her fingers from his ring to stroke through his hair. Her body shifted over his and her mouth kissed him softly, a kind of amusement in her touch he didn't understand.

"What?"

"Not that. I already - we're married, Castle. We're as married as I ever need to be. Not what I meant."

"What'd you mean then?"

"Someday. The rest of it. Normal life. Kids with you. A home."

He stared at her. "What did you think we - haven't I always said-"

"But I never expected to really want it," she said in a rush. "I thought it was a dream, Castle. A nice dream. And sweet of you to dream with me. But now it's - it could be possible, once this is all over with. Right? We could really do this."

"We _will_ do this."

She was staring into his face like she was searching for a sign. For reality, that was what she was looking for. She wanted to be sure he was grounded in reality, that he wasn't being stupidly optimistic.

"Kate. We will. We deserve that normal life. I want to get you pregnant and see you hold our son or daughter. I want to teach my kid all the things no one ever took the time to teach me. I want to have soccer games and play dates and stupid fights with you about - about - I don't even know what normal people have fights about. The plumbing?"

She laughed, _giggled_, and dropped her head to his chest with breathlessness. Her fingers patted his cheek as she looked back up at him again, that amusement on her lips.

"The plumbing. Oh, baby. You've got no idea."

"Whatever. It could be about the plumbing."

She stroked her hand down swiftly and squeezed, making him grunt.

"I've got no complaints about the plumbing," she murmured.

It took him a long moment to focus again, to tear his attention from that hand, but when he did, when he looked at her and really saw her, Kate was giving him that soft, beautiful smile, hope filling up her dark eyes with stars.

He cupped her cheeks and promised her the impossible. "We'll grow old together, Kate Beckett. We'll make a family together and love our kids, and the dog will always lie down right at our front door and the boy will get in trouble for trying to take the car without permission and we'll constantly have to tell our girl to wear less revealing clothing and we'll fight about the plumbing, I swear-"

She kissed him, kissed him hard and intense and passionate, and he couldn't fathom not being able to keep that promise.

They would. They would. He'd make all her dreams come true.

* * *

"A white picket fence?" she wrinkled her nose. "No. A brownstone. Can we afford that?"

He laughed and the sound hummed through her as she laid next to him. His arm was hooked around her neck and she could feel his fingers playing with her hair.

"A brownstone in New York? Probably not. But maybe."

"A loft," she compromised.

"A loft," he sighed. "Yeah. You love the city?"

"I do," she murmured, pressing her palm to his chest. "My parents - my mom's city. She and I explored it together. You know?"

He didn't say anything to that, and then she realized that he didn't know - he hadn't ever gotten that. She shifted up to kiss his jaw and stroked her fingers over his neck.

"I could show you the city," she murmured finally. "We could take our kids to the same places my mom took me."

"Yeah," he said softly, a crack in his voice. "That would-"

The phone buzzed into the darkness of their room, silencing whatever he'd been about to say. Kate waited, but Castle didn't move to pick it up, so she crawled over him to get it. But it wasn't on the bedside table. She paused, bewildered, and she felt him laugh under her and then his arm slipped past her, reaching for the floor.

His shoe. Again. Should've realized.

She snagged it from his fingers and answered it herself, flopping down beside him with a roll of her eyes.

"Beckett."

His fingers came to her clavicles and skimmed and she shivered, distracted until she heard the voice on the other end.

"Beckett again? Of course it is. Get my son."

She snorted - a combination of Castle's fingers tickling her, and his father's insistent voice. She knocked his hand away and held out the phone to him.

Castle sighed and took the phone, but he rolled over so that he was lying on top of her, his body pressed into hers, still not answering. She lifted her eyebrows at him and his fingers came out to touch her chin, trail at her neck. His kiss was soft.

And then he sat up and took the phone call, though his fingers came to tangle in her hair.

She watched him for a moment, the terse expression on his face, and then she sat up in bed beside him, pressed their shoulders together in solidarity.

* * *

They packed quietly, side by side.

France. Basque Separatists, the leader of a group that had been pushed out by the current dissidents. Muscle for hire now, and they'd been snatched up by the remnants of Foley's organization.

They had two more days on the rented walk-up, but they'd have to go. There was a time crunch; the Basque group was meeting up with more of Foley's men, working on moving the organization's considerable stockpiles to a new location. She and Castle were back on the job.

She glanced over at him and jerked upright. "What are you doing?"

He was peeling the tape back from his splinted thumb, unwrapping it completely.

"Castle," she growled, coming for him.

He held her off and shook his head. "It's too noticeable. I can't go out there with a splinted thumb."

She dropped her hands, frowning at him. But he was right. Of course he was. And even though she didn't like it, didn't like him going out unprotected, she had to readjust her thinking.

Leaving the splint on would be worse than taking it off. Leaving it on meant a different kind of vulnerability.

This was a world of compromises. She'd begun to learn that. The compromise of safety, the compromise of morals. She had to get used to the compromises, learn to live with them, or she'd never make it in his world.

She wasn't sure she should.

* * *

They took a red-eye flight out of Rome for Paris, had their passports stamped like they were the newlywed couple on their honeymoon. Castle kept her hand in his maimed one, and she was careful of his thumb, found herself stroking the slightly swollen knuckle.

They had one suitcase between them and Castle had donated their coats and outerwear to a local charity in Rome. They'd bought new ones in the airport in France, a different look for a different country, and she shrugged her shoulders in the garment as it sat on her shoulders.

Castle twitched next to her and she glanced to him. He was looking off towards the airport taxi stand, and she followed his gaze to see a man leaning against a pillar, his eyes on them.

"Contact," Castle murmured. "That's him."

"Name?"

"Charles de Gaulle."

She narrowed her eyes at the man still a good fifty yards from them and Castle's fingers squeezed around hers.

"Obviously that's not his real name," Castle said finally, giving her a soft, teasing smile. "Charles de Gaulle. Couldn't be."

She grunted to suppress the laugh, but she couldn't help the smile. "Yeah. I got that, Castle."

"He'll brief us on this dissident Basque group and we'll see where we're at. He'll supply us; we'll be on our way. Some rough travel ahead."

"I figured," she said quietly. "Here goes nothing."

* * *

'Charles de Gaulle' led them from the metro station upwards into the dawn light of Paris. Castle could see the Champs-Elysees to the east and the American Cathedral in Paris dead ahead of them. Kate held his hand like they were newlyweds, their joined fingers brushing the side of his thigh, and they stayed a good ten to fifteen yards behind their contact.

He realized that Charles was guiding them unerringly towards the cathedral, a few side trips here and there as they shook out their tails. Kate blatantly played the tourist, which he was grateful for, since it gave him the chance to bring out his rusty Americanized version of the French language and completely excuse their too-early morning walk.

Charles disappeared into a side door of the cathedral's vestry. Kate nudged him slightly and they loitered before the church's magnificent architecture until the scant number of pedestrians had cleared and they could follow Charles inside.

The vestry was dark and stuffy with closed-up air; the door they'd come through led to a hallway with four doors - two on either side - but the last one on the left had been marked subtly with a kind of chalk.

Kate took the lead; she'd seen the marking before he had, apparently. She let go of his hand and moved swiftly to the door. He could see her check her back before she remembered that neither of them had weapons.

Charles would provide the armory, but Castle was going to insist that Kate get a personal piece. No more of this unlicensed shit. She needed a gun.

He nodded to her and she twisted the doorknob. He head checked the space and came into a small changing room ahead of her. Charles was waiting at another door to what looked like a steep staircase.

"We'll go up to the organ loft. I'll brief you there."

Castle glanced quickly to Beckett and he saw she was still flexing her hand, seeking after a gun no longer there.

He knew the feeling.

* * *

The wooden floor resounded under her shoes until she slipped them off at the top of the stairs. Castle followed her lead and she realized with a burst of pride that Charles had done the same. He nodded to her in salute and they proceeded along the back of the wide room towards a row of choir benches.

The rose window let in the early morning light, sending glints of gold and pink, green and blue along their faces as they walked. The railing opened up to the rest of the sanctuary but Kate noticed that where they were positioned, it would be difficult to notice anyone up here.

Charles had a key around his neck that he was tugging out. She watched in growing interest as he fitted the key into a narrow wooden door set into the side of the massive organ console. Castle came up to her back, his body warm and rigid behind her, and then Charles twisted the knob and opened the door.

He ushered them inside before him and Kate took a wondering step - directly inside the organ itself.

"Avoid the pipes," Charles said, his accent only slightly affecting his English. Kate stared at the dim interior of the organ, surprised by the mixture of new and old traditions. Computers were aligned at one side, while the old pipes rose towards the ceiling. There were so many - thousands reaching upwards, rows and rows - and it reminded her strangely of the city of Oz.

"I have your things here," Charles said quietly, his voice as hushed as the cathedral itself.

He moved easily past her, heading for a bank of computers that were attached to the pipes themselves. She didn't understand what their function might be, but the arrangement was simple and orderly and it soothed her in a way their mostly silent contact had not.

For the first time since they'd spotted the man, she felt more at ease.

"Our organ was built by Cavaille-Col and has more than five thousand pipes. These computers are new, of course, but they interface with the organist, tell the swell box how much to open for a crescendo, that kind of thing. They operate the physical machine. This Grande Orgue is actually two organs working as one."

Kate tilted her head back once more to study the pipes. They went on forever, endless. Two organs working as one.

She liked that a lot.

The man - whom Kate now thought might be an organist here at the church, the man behind the curtain - pulled out a burlap sack from a niche behind the computer bank. When he opened it, she could see the matte black finish of two weapons and a heavy duty laptop.

Castle took both guns, checked them, and loaded their magazines before handing one to her. She felt its weight in her hand and relished the sense of control it gave her. A Sig, she knew that much, but it looked custom.

"These are the standard-issue firearm for the National Police," Castle murmured to her. "SP 2022. We have identification as such. How's your French, Beckett?"

"Nowhere near native," she murmured. "But small phrases - I could pass."

"You've practiced?" he said.

She nodded shortly. Enough.

He left the gun in her hands and took the laptop, slung off his backpack to place it inside. When he stood again, he reached out and grasped Charles by the shoulders. They made the motion of an air kiss, more grim than greeting, and Castle nodded to her.

"We'll show ourselves out."

"Avoid the pipes."

Kate laughed softly and allowed Castle to lead her out.

They'd been given a brain and courage from the Wizard, and now they were off to tackle the last of the flying monkeys.

* * *

She was wearing ballet flats like the majority of the Parisian women, her infinity scarf looped around her neck, a light jacket on her shoulders in deference to the cooler weather. March had turned the leaves a yellow-green and birds pecked the sidewalk looking for crumbs.

Kate's feet ached, but she knew the aimless-seeming walk had its purpose.

They'd played the tourist, sunglasses firmly on, smiling and taking photos, posing in front of all the familiar landmarks, taking the metro in and around and through Paris until she was dizzy with the sense of their directionless wanderings. She still knew where north was, and she was grimly proud of it, but Castle had some mental map in his head that only he could follow.

She squeezed his hand and figured it was time to sit and people watch - aka, spot the tail. Castle turned his head to her in surprise and she pulled on his hand, tugged him towards the open-air cafe.

He reluctantly seemed to give up his plan, followed her towards a round, wooden table and its metal chairs. He dwarfed the space, his body hulking, and Kate had to press her lips together to keep from laughing.

He growled at her and squeezed her knee under the table, and then a waiter came by for their orders.

"_Qu'est-ce que je vous sers?_"

"_Deux cafés,_" Kate said quickly, using her tourist French, letting her accent twist in her mouth. She was better than that, and she knew it, but Castle had a harder time of making his sound non-native. He always seemed to faintly impress the Frenchmen when he talked.

"_Deux cafés, très bien. Autre chose?_"

She nudged Castle and lifted an eyebrow and he shrugged at her.

"_Deux croissants, s'il vous plaît_," she added, felt the grumble in her stomach. "_Est-ce que vous avez de la soupe, ou quelque chose de chaud?_"

He rattled off a list of the soups and she picked two, figured they could share if they needed to. The waiter left and Castle gave her knee another squeeze, softer this time, a caress of his fingers. "You did good," he murmured, and she realized it too was in French. Like he didn't even know he was doing it.

She leaned in over the table, propped on her elbows, and snagged him by the lapels of his jacket. He grinned back and she kissed him, let her tongue stroke lightly over his lips and inside his mouth.

He hummed and his fingers tangled in her hair, stroking his thumb at her cheek. "You're lovely," he sighed.

She smiled, her heart catching, and sat back on her side of the table.

Lovers in Paris. Perfect cover.

* * *

He watched her, did his best to keep it under wraps, but he had a feeling she knew.

She was just - she was more than he'd ever considered possible for his life. An equal to him in this arena, the world of shadows, and yet she still somehow managed to keep that inherent sense of right and wrong, light and dark. The world _wasn't_ shades of grey when she was here.

Damn, he was getting sentimental.

Getting? He already was. Too long gone for that to even matter anymore. She ate her croissant daintily, dipped it in her soup like a tourist. He wondered if she was doing that on purpose, treating her croissant like it was bread, or if she just didn't know.

"That's a pastry, you know," he said, nodding towards the 'bread' she was eating.

"I know," she hummed. "Good with soup."

"Pastry as in. . .doughnut. Bearclaw. Come on, Beckett. You're a cop. You know what a pastry is."

"Tastes good. The sweet goes well with the soup."

"What a little philistine."

She shrugged at him, her tongue coming out to lick the corner of her mouth. She cleaned her thumb after that, putting her croissant down on the plate once more. "I like it. Leave me alone."

"No, no. Go for it. Perfect cover - ridiculous Americans."

She glared at him and he felt her kick at his shin, soft in those shoes, and he caught her ankle, brushed his fingers along her exposed skin. She was beautiful; she really was. And he felt honored to be here.

"Hey," he said suddenly, felt the gruffness in his voice and tried to swallow past it.

She lifted her eyes to him.

"I love you, Kate."

She smiled widely and tilted her head against her propped up hand, snaked her other arm across the table to him. He snagged her fingers and held on, felt like he needed the grip to anchor him to the spinning world.

"I love you, too," she said quietly. "I don't know how I got so lucky."

He wished it wasn't luck. He wished it was fate.

Maybe it was. With Kate around, he was starting to believe in the mysteries of the universe.

* * *

The CIA's safe house in Paris was a normal flat on the top floor of an apartment building that had seen better days. Beckett dropped her jacket over the back of the wooden chair and took off her scarf, slid out of her slightly sweaty shoes.

Her toes popped on the bare wooden floor and Castle shot her a smile as he eased the laptop out of his backpack.

She leaned against the couch and watched over his shoulder as he powered it up. It was public key encrypted, she could tell just by watching it go through the boot-up menu, and she saw Castle tug the chain out from around his neck.

His wedding band was on his finger though; now a small flash drive was hanging from the chain.

His private key encryption. Fancy math, they'd explained in training. Just fancy math.

Kate skated her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, pushed her thumb into the knots there. He plugged the flash drive into the computer and leaned back into her touch, a sound rumbling up from his chest. She liked that sound; she'd heard it under her cheek and felt it against her palm. His contented sound.

She leaned her elbows against the couch and moved to press her cheek to his, hugging him awkwardly. He let out a little laugh and cupped the side of her face for a moment before going back to the laptop.

She kissed his jaw and stood up, moved around the couch to sit beside him as he logged into the CIA network.

When the map popped up with their location pinpointed, she couldn't help the shiver that ran through her, like someone had walked over her grave. She didn't like it, and judging by the hard set to Castle's eyes, he didn't much like it either.

"Here's the mission brief," he muttered, calling up another window.

She skimmed it with him, realized it was much the same as Copenhagen. A building near a shipping facility, probable weapons stockpile, Basque separatists organizing for their 'coming revolution.'

She read their orders once more, just to be sure she had it clear.

_Evaluate the extent of the operation and neutralize the threat._

A flutter started in her chest that she couldn't tamp down.

Neutralize.

She knew what that meant.

* * *

He watched her change in the bedroom, her thin shoulders sloping down to those painfully narrow blades that poked through her back like wings. He couldn't keep away; he moved into the room and slid his arms around her waist, pressed his mouth to her spine.

She shivered and leaned back into him, so he tucked his chin at her neck and circled her with his embrace, swaying softly. His shirt against her bare skin, his cheek at her bra strap, his thumbs smoothing the warm expanse of her hip bones jutting out into the curve of his palm.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, drawing her deeper.

She lifted her hand to his cheek and scratched her nails back through his scalp. "How much time do we have before we go down there?"

"Surveillance will be round the clock," he murmured. "We should get going soon."

"Can I just - can we do this first?" she begged. "Please. Just - I won't be able to concentrate unless I can have you, Castle." Her hand caught at his neck and tugged his mouth to hers; he felt her tongue pushing inside and the way her hips rocked back into his.

"Have time for this, definitely have time for this," he murmured against her mouth.

"There's not," she sighed. "There's not enough time."

"I'll make time," he growled back, turning her around to face him. He had his fingers at the button of her jeans and was already pushing them off her hips. Her face lit up and she smiled widely at him, like he was a gift, and damn, she made him feel good. She made him feel extraordinary.


	12. Chapter 12

**Close Encounters 5**

* * *

The surveillance set-up was minimal, but it would service. Beckett unpacked the laptop and powered it up while Castle checked the digital camera on its tripod. They'd do a day confined to the room, watching the business across the street, and then they'd form a plan to shut down the last of Foley's group in France.

A refrigeration company rented the building and it seemed legit, but the intel had the Basques working there. Castle had given her the information the agency had, and then they'd gone through the possible scenarios. He was patient, she'd noticed, like he actually enjoyed laying it all out and picking apart the details.

They'd talked about kids, about having a family and doing real life together and she wondered now. . .what would he do? He seemed to suggest that he'd retire from the CIA, but wouldn't that make him absolutely crazy, sitting at home? Would he teach? Or some other thing entirely, some new and unknown thing that she couldn't even fathom right now?

She'd never wanted it so much before. Since her mother's murder, she'd forgone any hint of life, thought it'd been the deal she'd made when she became a cop. But they might actually - they would - get Bracken and take him down for his crimes.

And once that was done. . .

Her life was her own once more.

He came to sit at the card table beside her, leaning in against her shoulder to look at the computer screen. She felt his hand move under hers at the mouse's track pad, opening a program, and she let her fingers caress his knuckles.

And then her stomach growled and he laughed. "You hungry?"

"Yeah," she shrugged. He was smiling at her, a beautiful smile with that crinkle to his eyes and the flop of hair over his forehead. "Let's order pizza."

His grin only widened, laughing as he leaned away from her. "Pizza. You're in Paris and you want to get pizza?"

"Sorry, but _someone_ didn't do a thorough briefing on Parisian culture. The extent of my knowledge of its cuisine is the hard and fast rule that a croissant is not bread."

He laughed again and her chest filled with it, pride and amusement and a sense of _I did that, I made him happy_ which was utterly ridiculous but there anyway.

She made him happy.

"Oh, I think I briefed you pretty damn thoroughly," he murmured, lifting an eyebrow as he leaned in. His mouth touched hers with a moment's electric shock, tingling right down to her guts and sizzling.

She _just_ had him. No wonder they called it a honeymoon phase. She wanted him all the time. She wanted him more when he looked at her like that, when he took what he wanted or when he was gentle and too tender.

"Order me some pizza, super spy," she murmured before it could get out of hand.

* * *

She sat on a cot pushed against the far wall, and so he angled the folding chair towards it and talked to her while he kept one eye on the laptop's display. The camera recorded the building in pristine digital quality, but absolutely nothing was happening.

He hated this part of an operation, but Beckett seemed to have plenty of experience with stakeouts. She even had a game.

"Come on," she encouraged, her back propped against the wall as she sat cross-legged on the cot. She was finishing off a slice of pizza. "First one ever."

"I'm a little embarrassed."

"Why?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "I've heard you make that girly little squeal when I-"

"Okay, okay," he hastily interrupted her. She couldn't start making this about sex or he'd never survive. "You don't pull punches, do you?"

"Not usually."

"Fine. First one ever. I was - it was an accident."

She raised one slim eyebrow and her fingers went still over the pizza box. "An accident."

"I didn't mean to do it."

Her face slipped into something he couldn't identify and he wondered what she was thinking about. If she was - making judgments about him.

"Was it - did you shoot someone? Or was it close quarters?" she said quietly.

"Close. I wasn't allowed to carry." He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "I was setting out charges. He wasn't supposed to be there."

"He wasn't - an innocent bystander. Was he?" She looked flat, run over. He remembered that feeling.

"No. He was a terrorist as well. But."

"Messy," she sighed.

He nodded. And he knew she knew - not just the way he'd had to make his first kill in this business, but also how it'd affected him. Not cleanly, sticking like a burr to his memory because if the guy had been at home, then he'd never have been killed. If he'd not forgotten something or whatever the reason, then Castle would have blown up their headquarters and life would have gone on.

"You probably can't tell me why," she said quietly.

He couldn't. But he would anyway. "Subversion. We made it look like another Afghani faction was at war with them. They fought it out between themselves and less American soldiers died."

"Minimal crossfire?"

"Better than it had been."

She nodded and her fingers caressed the cardboard of the pizza box. "You did what you had to."

"I'm starting to feel more and more like that's just an excuse."

Beckett lifted her head to him and he avoided the truth of her gaze by looking back to the computer screen. The program automatically ran a gait and face recognition software, silently pinpointing possible targets for later examination. He'd have to get Beckett started on that side of things soon, just so the work wouldn't pile up.

"What would you do instead?" she said suddenly.

He jerked his head back to look at her. "Instead of what?"

"This."

Oh. _Oh._ "I'd - I'd figure something out. Ride a desk for a few years and then retire."

"And then?"

"I don't know. You."

Her lips quirked and she sat forward with her elbows on her knees. "I'm a given. Can't get rid of me now, Agent." Her smile deepened into something like tender consideration. "Do you even know what you wanted to be when you grew up? As a little boy, what did you long for?"

"What did you?" he shot back. It was instinctive; he couldn't help it. But she seemed to understand.

"When I was five, I wanted to be a rock star and perform on stage and go on tour with my band in our purple bus. Just like Barbie. Like Jem."

"Jem?"

"Cartoon. Jem and the Holograms. But when I was older, I was going to be a lawyer. Pre-law at Stanford. I was going to be the next Supreme Court Justice."

His mouth dropped open. He'd never considered before how drastically her life had veered off course with her mother's death. "Did your mom want you to follow her footsteps like that?"

"She didn't say I had to or anything. She was pleased I wanted to be like her. But I think even if she hadn't been killed, I'd have - changed my mind somewhere along the way."

"Oh?"

"The passion for it wasn't there." She fell silent and dropped her eyes, picked at the bare cot. His heart pounded crazily in his chest.

"I wanted to be a hundred things," he said suddenly. "When I was five, I had all these stories in my head about what I would do. Astronaut, cowboy, bank robber, veteranarian. My - mother - would tell me that I could be all of them - I just had to be an actor."

She was smiling at him. She looked like she wanted to touch him and he couldn't have her do that, not while he was trying to be - to talk - to get it out.

He leaned back in the folding chair. "So I - I was going to be an actor. Like her. And make all those stories come to life."

She stood and came to him then, her fingers sliding through his hair and holding his head to her abdomen. He kept his eyes on the laptop screen, but he pressed a kiss to her hip bone and sighed.

"You could still do that," she said softly. "And your - Martha knows people. If you wanted to-"

"No," he said with a shrug. "I already do that. A spy's life is all an act - 'all the world's a stage.'"

"'And one man in his time plays many parts.' I know. But you could still find a way to tell those stories."

"I like telling you my stories," he said quietly. He didn't know why he was saying it, except that it was honest, and she was singular, and so the words always came out of his mouth around her.

"I like hearing them," she said back, and her mouth skimmed his forehead, pressed a kiss over his eyebrow.

He swallowed hard and knew he was going to tell her all of it, everything, and maybe in the telling, he'd figure out how to live a life outside of the only thing he'd ever known.

Because now he knew _her_, and she was the life he wanted.

"One thing I wanted to be," he said quickly, feeling _sweaty_ about it. Nervous. He pushed back to look at her. "I wanted - I always wanted to be a dad. A real father. I wanted to be a dad."

She pressed her fingers below her eye, swiping, and curled her other hand in his hair. "You still can be. You will be."

And this time he knew it was a promise instead of just a wish.

* * *

She sat before the computer screen and watched the flow of traffic on the sidewalk below. The laptop was supposed to show four angles, but the third was black and Castle was down there trying to fix the east camera.

The view popped on at that moment and she saw the edge of Castle's finger as he adjusted it, smiled to herself when he stuck his face in front of it and wriggled his eyebrows. The recognition program went a little crazy with his close-up and she laughed into the silence of the tiny room, shook her head at him.

When he rejoined her inside, she slapped at his arm and showed him the program. "You made it goofy."

"I did," he grinned. "Look at that. I can clear it from the list though." He leaned over her and dragged his encounter with the camera from the recognition list, deleted it effortlessly. The program whined and seemed to catch up once more.

They were back to four working cameras and a flux of mid-day traffic.

"You want your seat back?" she said.

"No, keep it. I might actually nap on the cot. You mind?"

"Go for it. But drag it close?" She gave him a hopeful raise of her eyebrow and he looked confused, but he shrugged and put a hand around the frame, made the cot clatter loudly over the bare wood.

He sank down on the bare mattress and she angled her chair so she could see him as well as the laptop. She propped her feet up by his head and Castle slid his fingers under her sock and cupped her heel. It was erotic in a strange and tantalizing way; she toed her ballet flats off and he took her sock all the way down.

"Eyes on the screen," he gruffed.

She jerked her eyes back to the laptop and sucked in a breath, felt his lips at the top of her ankle where her foot met her leg, the flex of tendon, the heat of his breath against her skin and his thumb at her achilles.

"Watch the screen, Beckett."

Fuck the screen.

But she kept her eyes on the computer, felt her vision burning with need and the shift of her thighs and his hand around her ankle and _how_ how could this be so fucking sexy? It was her damn foot. Neither of them had a fetish, neither of-

His teeth scraped her ankle and her hips jerked. His fingers slid up her calf now as far as he could go and she wanted her pants off. She wanted her pants off and him touching her and, damn it, she had to keep her eyes on the screen.

"Thought you were gonna nap."

"Might have to eat first."

She was going to die.

* * *

Sometime after his assault of afternoon delight, (shit, he'd really - that was just - it was almost cruel the way he'd touched her), Beckett used Castle's phone to begin checking the people the software had recognized. She'd connected to the CIA's network and started plugging in the results that had dumped automatically to Castle's phone from the laptop, and while it was drudge work until she got a match, she didn't mind it so much.

Castle sat at the table now while she had the mattress, her body pleasantly pliant and warm, and she plugged in recognition parameters into the CIA's database while she watched the broad back and the wide shoulders before her.

She sometimes forgot who he'd been when they first started this. She forgot who she'd been as well. But she had these moments when she couldn't see his face, where it was just the back of his neck or the ridges of his knuckles that reminded her of who he really was. Who she was as well.

She wasn't a CIA spy. She was an asset, sure, but she had no business being here. She was a homicide detective. She'd never had a burning passion for the law as a lawyer, but as a police officer, as someone designated to protect the people, she was on fire.

She didn't belong here with him. He was a real spy, an actual spy, and how had she ever thought she could pretend otherwise?

Maybe because he was so good at pretending otherwise himself. He wanted more. He confessed his dreams to her; he poured out words from his secret passional places, stories about how he wanted to be a father and an astronaut and his little boy yearnings.

Were they kidding themselves?

The CIA was a place of shadows and secrecy, not white picket fences.

_Neutralize the threat._

But - that didn't have to mean kill. That didn't have to mean executing another handful of people and a fiery furnace climbing up into the night and the husks of bodies darkening in the blaze.

The phone in her hands returned another result and now that was three men marked as Basque separatists.

Through what judge and jury? What trial? Was it only known associates and circumstantial evidence?

Three men marked for death.

_Neutralize the threat._

But it didn't have to be.

"Castle."

He gave her a slight turn of his head from the screen, but he was still studying it intently. They had only twenty more hours of surveillance and she knew he was now looking for patterns and weaknesses inherent in their security.

"Castle."

"Yeah."

"What if we got them arrested?"

* * *

They were still arguing about it twenty hours later. Or rather, Beckett was making a nuisance of herself insisting it could be done while he tried to finish up the last of his planning. The refrigeration company had one exit that afforded easy ingress, and he was building their plan of attack around getting in and out of that door.

"We already have covers as cops," she said again.

"I heard you, Beckett."

"We don't _know_ that every guy in there really is part of Foley's group."

"But we do know they all consort with terrorists and are most likely terrorists," he said again, lifting his head from his phone as he made notes. She was on the laptop and the place was dark, no lights on in their tiny room either.

"Correlation is not causation," she growled.

"We're not in the States. We don't have time to produce evidence and go through a trial in front of a group of their peers. Who _are_ their peers, Beckett? Terrorists. The things they've done and the life they lead puts them here. In my crosshairs. In _our_ crosshairs."

She had her face set against him, but he was tired of arguing it with her.

"This is what my job is. This is what I do. I told you that. I kill people, Beckett."

She didn't say anything to that - finally - and he finished the last of his plan. He didn't have charges with him this time, but once again, he figured they could make what they needed from what was on hand. If it came to it, he'd kill them one by one.

"You have your weapon?" he said quietly.

She gritted her teeth but nodded.

"Good. Let's go."

* * *

"You don't have to kill them," she murmured quietly.

"Shut up."

"They don't have to die. Call the National Police. Make it obvious what they're doing here. Or fuck, I don't care, make it look like they're violating the laws of secularism. Put a huge cross on their door or knock them out and dress them in Sikh subturbans, or shit - whatever - dress them as women in headscarves. Any of that is preferrable to murdering them."

He gave her a nasty look and kept walking, and she walked with him, quietly, trying not to call attention to them even as she fought to preserve the lives of the people in that building.

"You don't have to be this person, Castle. You can-"

"Beckett." His words were clipped, business-like. She was losing his _respect_ - she could hear it in his voice. But she couldn't stop.

"We have time. We can come up with a strategy."

"I have a strategy. It involves minimal interaction with the authorities and little to no evidence that an agent of the United Sates was ever involved. I am - at best - a criminal. At worst - I would be executed for espionage. And you as well."

They didn't really - France? France wouldn't-

"Let it go," he growled.

But she couldn't. She just couldn't. It didn't have to be this way. They could work within the system to get these guys; it didn't always have to be fire and death and terror.

He pressed flat against a doorway across the alley from the refrigeration company, and she sank into the shadows with him, her breathing harsh. She wanted to make him stop and just _think_ for a second, but he wasn't going to stop. He was like her in that regard - he had a plan and he had blinders on when it came to anything else. He was going to do it regardless of what she said.

He was going to do it regardless. . .

Part of her brain was screaming at her, a thing, an instance, a moment of memory struggling up to the forefront.

He had a plan. He was going to do it-

It. He was going to-

He was going to assassinate William Bracken.

Wasn't he?

Their jaunts to Europe and buying her a dog and sending her to training and making her promises - he was trying to distract her from his main goal. Wasn't he? He was still planning to kill the senator no matter what she'd said about justice and doing it right.

He had a plan. He was going to do it.

"Beckett. Keep up. So help me, if you get us killed-"

Her fingers were numb but she followed him blindly across the alley, waited at the side door while he kneeled down and picked the lock.

When had that been, when had he come to her and said it first, explained-?

She'd been at Stone Farm, recovering from the bullet wound, and he'd been like a serious little boy. He'd been walking with her and then his eyes had sparked as he'd looked at her, and she hadn't believed he'd really do it. She hadn't seen the reality of him yet, not really. His face had looked like a child coming to his mother with some determined plot, but she'd told him no and she'd thought that had been the last of it.

The lock clicked as he got it open and he stood swiftly. She bit hard on her inside cheek and drew her weapon; she had to fucking concentrate. Ignore the stuff about William Bracken and _have his back_.

That's why she was here now. That was her only job - the only thing she was at all interested in.

But still. She didn't want him to kill anyone.

She wanted the man - not the spy - to win.

* * *

Castle paused in the narrow corridor and tried to bring to mind the schematics he'd studied online. But she was hot at his back and breathing hard and all he could think about was the damn disappointment in her eyes when he'd refused to do to it her way.

"Right," she breathed. "Go right."

He turned to her and she nodded with a tightly pinched face.

Go right, she said.

He gave up on recalling the layout and followed her lead; she'd memorized it too. She knew how to do the job, even if she was unwilling to do it.

He could count on her; he could. He'd forgotten that for a moment.

He passed a second crossroads and she snagged his jacket, brought him up short. She jerked her head back to the alternate route and he moved back for it, appalled at how turned around he'd gotten.

All because she'd argued with him outside? He should be better than that. Her life depended on his presence of mind as well as her own, and he should be better.

But he knew that when this night was over, the thought of her against him would spring up like a black hole in his chest, sucking all the light out of him. He was working so hard to stave that off that he wasn't keeping his focus.

Fuck, he couldn't deal with this right now.

No wonder Black had been so resistant. No wonder he'd said that Beckett put him in danger. It wasn't her so much as himself, his own damn weakness. He needed to get it the fuck under control.

Right now.

He gritted his teeth and flexed his fingers around his gun, working his way deeper into the bowels of the refrigeration company's warehouse. Offices were on the third floor and the storage area should be somewhere close by.

"Straight," she murmured at his back.

Straight ahead then. They'd find chemicals to create some kind of explosion, get out of here before the fire started. He knew it was risky - they'd already seen how terribly wrong things could go - but they weren't splitting up this time.

He was _not_ letting her out of his sight.

* * *

Beckett took the lead when he faltered, and she came around the corner and into the open area of the warehouse. Refrigerated boxcars lined the space, a conveyance at the far end that looked like it attached the cars to trailer trucks. She kept her gun ready and at her side, unwilling to look at Castle.

He was pissed at her; she knew it. She could feel it radiating from him in waves.

She wasn't going to let that get her flustered; they could have this conversation later. It was more important that he not do anything against Bracken than a handful of Basque separatists, if she had to choose. She didn't want to have to choose though.

She found the tanks of propane against one wall in special shelving units, and next to it, she identified ammonia and sulfur dioxide stored similarly. She glanced to Castle and he was already moving forward, checking the tanks.

"They use these as refrigerants," he murmured carefully. "And I definitely can get it to go up. I just need a fuse."

She hadn't taken classes in explosives - not this advanced at least; she'd be of no help to him here. But she could go nail down the whereabouts of the three men inside that they knew were Foley's agents.

"I'll go look for the three-"

"No," he said quickly, lifting his face to her. "No."

"Whatever fuse you make won't give us enough time to make sure everyone is inside the building when it goes - and also get out ourselves, Castle."

"I won't do it right now. I just want to find everything I need and have it ready."

"But what if someone moves in the meantime?"

"Kate," he growled out, and she knew she was pissing him off, but she couldn't drop it. He had holes in his plan and hers - hers would work.

"Let's sit on it. Let's call the Paris Police and get them down here on a bomb threat. They come inside with the bomb squad, but they see all the weapons too."

"Beckett. Do you see weapons lying around?"

She turned her head and really looked, down the rows of refrigerated cars and through the dim interior. "No. No, I don't. But we can find them and leave them lying around. We do that instead, you fashion the bomb but don't set it to blow, and then we call the police. No one dies, but they all get arrested."

"And then they're out on bail and back working for Foley in two years."

She shook her head. "You don't know that. Enough arms in here? - they'd do real time. In a secure facility."

"Because you know so much about French jurisprudence."

"Actually, we had to study French laws in college. They've got some harsh penalties for terrorism, Castle."

He was gritting his teeth, but he took her sharply by the elbow - hurting her - and began dragging her down the aisle of propane tanks, deeper into the shadows.

"Why are you doing this?" he hissed. "It can't be only now occurring to you what kind of man I am, what kind of man you've married."

She twisted her elbow from his grip and instead clutched his bicep, willing him to really look at her, really see. "I know who you are. I know exactly who you are. I'm under no illusions, Rick Castle."

His eyes were clear, but she couldn't read them.

"I killed five people last week." She swallowed hard and met the thing face on. "Two of them I burned alive." She wanted to say more, needed to say more, but no more words would come.

Something on his face changed, became harder or finer-etched. She couldn't understand it; she just knew she'd won.

She'd won _him._

"Fine. Let's find their stock and leave it conveniently out in plain sight."


	13. Chapter 13

**Close Encounters 5**

* * *

"Found it," he crowed, wriggling his eyebrows at her to break the tension.

It was quiet, it was a near-silent thing, but she did laugh. She laughed and everything seemed to click back into place. Right once again.

He yanked open the packing crate with his bare hands and pulled out a Soviet-made MANPAD, wincing at the alterations that had been made. They'd tried to jack up the range, but they were going to lose accuracy - by quite a good margin too.

"What is that?" she said, her body suddenly at his back and pressing in close. Her heat dissipates some of the tension as well.

"MANPAD - Man portable air-defense system. Basically a single guy can use this to shoot a missile at attack helicopters, that kind of thing. Sometimes they're mounted on a vehicle. These are Soviet made."

"Plenty here, right? With what we've found so far. . ."

"Yeah," he agreed. "This will do it. You got the phone?"

She nodded and pulled it out, handed it over to him.

"They'll call and evacuate the building," she said tersely.

"Not if I word it like I'm a concerned citizen who has seen suspicious activity." Castle left the crate open and pushed her back towards the rows of refrigerated cars. He'd compiled the propane and ammonia into something resembling a live device, but it'd never go off. Unless - of course - some idiot shot at it.

He definitely didn't want to get into a firefight down here.

She waited with him by the boxcar and he was tempted to take her up on the idea of splitting off and searching the building for their guys, but no. Bad idea. She could take care of herself, but with a potential fireball down here, he didn't want to be separated. He wanted her right at his side - they'd proven over and over again that the two of them together weren't quite as klutzy and unlucky as apart.

He got the National Police in moments, pitched his voice awkwardly, and reported seeing a bomb being made inside the refrigeration company.

He ended the call before they could run a trace, which wouldn't matter because his line was encrypted anyway, and nodded to Beckett.

"What happens now?" she asked.

At just that moment, a shout started up, much closer than Castle had expected.

Much closer. Practically on top of them.

He glanced towards the open end of the basement room, but he heard the shouted instructions changing to _alarm_, and the bullet went past his head before he could react.

Beckett cursed and grabbed his forearm, drawing her weapon and shooting back in the next instant even as she dragged him towards the row of refrigerated cars.

"Beckett. Fuck, no. The propane," he hissed, closing his fingers around her wrist in a death grip. She cried out and her weapon dropped, and then the bastards were firing back.

"Shit," she yelped, but she was scooping up her gun. He pushed her towards the nearest boxcar for cover, trying to recall the damn schematics for the fucking warehouse.

Fuck.

He should've shot them all and let them go up in flames. Mercy and justice and due process had no _place_ in the life of a spy; he should've girded his loins and done what needed to be done. They were fucking firing back, bullets clanging around the damn space like pinballs and that ammonia was going to _ignite_ and they were all fucked. They were fucked. Where could he possible take her to save-?

Fuck it all.

He dragged her inside the boxcar and slammed the door shut after them, raised his weapon to the doorway and waited. She took up a firing stance next to him and he could taste the blood pounding in his mouth, the fear.

And then the door clicked and the lock slid home.

They were trapped.

* * *

"No," she gasped and ran for the door.

The handle was fixed; it wouldn't move. She yanked harder and her heart beat out in time to her jerks on the cold metal until her fingers were numb.

Her fingers were _frozen_.

"Oh God," she gasped and backed away, staring at her purpling fingers, the blanched skin.

"Step back," Castle ordered. She turned to him, her throat tight, but she moved back by his side. He fired his gun at the door and the bullet ricocheted; she ducked and clapped her hands over her ears.

"Castle," she hissed. "You trying to kill us _faster_?"

He turned bleak eyes to her and the panic crawled back up her throat again, strangling.

"Kate."

"Your phone," she said, determined not to lose it. Not after she got them in this damn situation. "Anything?"

He had it out already, holding it up towards the ceiling. His throat bobbed. "No service."

She went back to prowling the boxcar, her fingers pulled up in her sleeves this time, running her hands over the sides as she looked for - anything really. Anything. She realized it was hard to breathe - every molecule of air felt like a dagger in her lungs, shredding them.

"Castle," she called out. "Anything?"

"Nothing," he said back. "No holes, no seams. It's - there's nothing."

She swallowed and felt the burn on her lips, hunched her shoulders to protect her ears.

It was really cold. This was really, really bad.

Oh, God, this was bad.

"Kate."

"Yeah." She paused at the front, studied the corrugated metal and the fans that pumped in the coolant. She ran her cloth-covered fingers over the seal of the door, jiggled the handle once more. Maybe they weren't locked, maybe it was just tight. Maybe if she-

"Kate."

"What?"

"Kate, keep walking."

She turned around and he was pacing the long side. "What?"

"You can't stop moving."

She looked back to the fan system that delivered the refrigerant. It was brutally cold here, towards the front where the air came in, but she slipped her bare fingers between the vent and worked at it.

"Beckett. Right now. Move." He was suddenly at her back and pushing her away; she stumbled and her knees locked up, stiff, but he had her. "You gotta keep moving, Kate."

"Why - I can maybe get that. My fingers are small enough. If we disable the delivery system, then it-"

"Beckett."

"Let me at least try," she hissed back, twisting out of his grip. "This is my own damn fault. Let me _try_."

"It's a long shot and you might - frostbite could permanently damage your fingers. The police are going to be raiding this place in moments. They'll eventually open up every single boxcar and storage container. They'll find us."

She wavered. "But how long will that take? How long do we have if that unit keeps pumping cold air in here?"

His face was set and he looked away from her; she realized his breaths were shallow too, a cloud of ice when they talked.

"Be ready to warm me up," she murmured. "You keep moving; I'll work on disabling the fan."

His hands clenched harder around her biceps, but she broke his hold with a move she'd learned in her own self-defense training. And he let her.

"You know I'm right," she said quietly. "Much as I love how thick your fingers are-"

He let out a strangled noise and she gave him a quick, fleeting smile.

"-they just won't fit in that vent, Castle. I'm the only one who can do this. So think of ways to stave off frostbite while I'm working. Okay, super spy?"

Suddenly he crushed his fingers around hers, tugged her in close for a hot kiss that banished the searing breath from her lungs, burned every hopeless thought right out of her head.

She could do this.

* * *

He paced, kept his hands tucked into armpits to keep them warm. Beckett was working on the air vent; she'd actually managed to loosen a screw and she was using her delicate fingers to twist it free. If they really could damage the ventilation system, it'd buy them some time.

The moment she had even the slightest corner free, he was taking over. He'd rip the vent from the wall and fire a few rounds into the fan and then he'd warm her up.

He could see she was trembling even from where he paced, and her breathing was labored. His was as well, the act of expanding his lungs was like pushing against steel. How long could she work at that fan before the colder air coming directly at her managed to-

He swallowed hard and strode towards her, snagged her by the wrist to make her stop. "Come get warm. Warmer. A break, just a break, Kate. Come on."

Her fingers were brutally cold in his hands and he pulled her to the back, wrapping his arms around her. She shivered violently now, a good sign, and he cradled the back of her head and angled her face into his neck.

"Put your hands under my shirt," he said quietly, the burn of her cold nose and lips making goose bumps crawl through him. "Right against my skin."

She did, groaning as she splayed her hands at his abdomen. He couldn't help the flinch, but he let go of her only long enough to flap his coat around them both, curl her tighter.

She lifted her face from his neck and blinked up at him. "I gotta go back. I almost had it."

"In a second. Your fingers are frozen solid. Can you even feel what you're doing?"

"No, but I can see."

"Stay here," he ordered, drawing his arm like a band around her. "Just stay right here for a second. You're keeping me warm."

She huffed a soft laugh at that, her nose finding the crease of his neck and sending chills tumbling down through his body.

"I think warm is a relative term," she muttered. But she moved her fingers to his back, pressed the cold digits into his skin, slid down between his jeans and his ass. He felt her pop the waistband of his boxer briefs, felt her smile against his collarbone as she did.

His heart was pounding hard with the feel of her, mixed with a good bit of panic as well, but if he closed his eyes, it was just Copenhagen, it was only a cold night standing on the riverwalk with the air cutting his lungs and her body blocking the worst of the chill.

"I gotta go back," she said. "My fingers are burning."

"Because they're so cold."

"I have to get that vent off."

"Kate," he choked out, pushed his own face down against her hair, burying himself in it.

"This was my stupid plan; I was the one who had to ruin a good thing-"

"It's not good," he got out. "That's the least - it's not good. Nothing I do is good, Kate. You make me better and I can't-"

"Let me work at the vent," she said quietly, cutting into his words and stopping the spiral of grief that dizzied him. "It'll buy us some time, Rick."

"Okay," he finally said, sucking in a long breath even as it ached. "Okay."

He let her go, and her fingers made long trails of ice against his skin as she moved away.

* * *

It was agony.

The air was so savagely cold as it came from the vent that she'd soon lost all feeling in her hands; her fingers were thick and clumsy against the wriggling screw. Castle still paced the boxcar behind her, coming over to give her these anxious, heartbreaking looks. She'd had to stop meeting his eyes.

She didn't want him to watch her die in here, but on the whole, ice was better than fire.

They'd sleep. It was just sleep. The cold was a violence she hadn't seen coming, but once she got this damn vent off, they could huddle together in the silent, white world.

It was - beautiful. It was kind of beautiful, and soft, and if she closed her eyes-

Fuck.

She startled and jerked away from the vent, her blood rushing in her ears. She'd nearly - just standing here - she'd nearly-

"Kate?"

"Almost got it," she lied, reaching back in for the screw.

_Pay attention, Beckett._

* * *

He pulled her away again, saw her listing forward every few seconds like she was going to _fall asleep_. He pushed her on a walking tour of the boxcar, made her keep moving even as he gripped her hands and tried to squeeze some life back into them.

When she stopped blinking heavily, he drew her to a corner of the container and pressed her hands up under his shirt again. The cold raced along his skin and made his bones ache, but she just stood there, her breathing slow.

When she didn't seem to flinch, when she didn't complain that the burn of the thaw was back, he stuck her fingers in his mouth to warm them up faster.

She hooked her thumb at his chin, rubbed over his stubble like she didn't know what she was doing, her eyes meeting his slowly.

He sucked on her fingers, put each digit between his molars and bit down until she jerked.

"Ow."

He pulled her hand out of his mouth and used his shirt to wipe it clean; she was shivering now, at least, and her fingers sought his skin immediately. He took her other hand and repeated the same treatment.

"Don't bite me," she muttered.

He did it anyway, gnawed at her fingers until she had feeling back in them again. She curled that hand at his neck, down inside the collar of his shirt, and she shivered as she leaned against him.

The panic had pounded hard in his ribs like a fist, but now that she seemed with it again, now that she was revived, he could control it. He could master the fear.

"How's your nose? Your lips?" he murmured at her ear, rubbing his cheek against her skin even as he asked.

"Numb. Hard to talk."

He cupped her jaw and skimmed his thumb over her lips, but his hands were so cold he couldn't feel her anyway. His knuckles creaked when he curled his fingers in her hair and drew her down against him.

He swayed with her at the back of the boxcar, still listening for sounds of police outside, raiding the warehouse. They had to come; they would come. But-

"It's only been thirty minutes," she said suddenly, her face lifting up from his neck. She looked faded, like the color was being sapped from her. "Thirty minutes, Castle."

_We won't survive much longer._

* * *

She gasped when the screw popped out and clattered to the floor.

Beckett stared down at it for too long a moment and then jerked her head up to look at the vent.

She had one corner free.

Holy shit.

She grinned and turned around, stumbling against the side of the refrigerated container, wincing as the frozen wall met her shoulder. Castle was pacing in a tight circle in the center of the boxcar.

"Castle," she croaked out, shocked by how raw her voice was, how difficult it was to breathe a word at all. "Castle."

He stuttered to a stop and turned to look at her, some faint emotion in his eyes.

"I got it," she rasped.

"Thank God," he moaned and already, he was yanking his weapon out of the holster and striding for her. She saw his fingers on the butt, stiff and unbending and she glanced down at her own hands.

She had bloodied gashes along the back of her hands where her dry skin had caught the edge of the vent. Her fingers were a strange bleached color, like paper, with spots of black at her nailbeds.

Not good.

Castle stared at the vent for a second too long.

"Castle," she got out. "Can you pull up enough of it to shoot-"

"Right," he said suddenly, shaking his head. "Yes. That. I knew that."

She stared at him, took the gun from his hand; it was heavier than she'd expected and it ached her whole arm.

Castle fumbled at the vent and worked his fingers under the corner; she saw the moment it cut the soft flesh of his skin, the blood leak out and then stop.

"Get behind me," he said suddenly, jerking his head over his shoulder. He seemed more awake now, more in the moment. "Get at my back, Kate. I'll block the air coming from the vent."

Oh. Oh, good idea. She moved around him and huddled at his back, pressing her face into the wool of his coat. But it was stiff with ice and she jerked back, shivering again.

She tucked her hands under her armpits and hunched inward, listening to his ragged breathing and the sounds of metal creaking.

She didn't know how long she stood there, swaying on her feet, when she heard him grunt.

"Fuck, yeah."

She had to smile, even though it hurt, and she passed his gun up to him carefully. Their fingers met for a moment over the butt, and she thought - for some reason - she thought she felt a kiss of his lips against her knuckles.

And then he was elbowing her back.

Castle had one hand prying up the vent, a small corner exposing the vulnerable inner workings of the fan.

He put the barrel of the gun in that narrow space, and then he turned his head and closed his eyes.

Oh fuck, she forgot that the-

He fired three times and the bullets exploded in the silence, the echoes of ripping metal tearing through the boxcar.

_Get behind me_, she fumed silently. He'd done that on purpose, to _shield_ her from the ricochet.

"Hear that?" he growled. His voice sounded like sandpaper.

"What?"

"Exactly. The fan died. I got it. We got it, Kate."

And despite the ice clustered in the fibers of his coat, she sank against his back in giddy relief.

* * *

He tugged her leather jacket off of her and dropped it to the floor, then he quickly sat down.

"Come on," he said, lifting his arms to her. He crossed his legs even as she straddled his lap, her body huddling in close, chest to chest. He was worried by the fact that neither of them were shivering, but he wrapped his coat around them both and held her as tightly as his stiff limbs would allow.

Her face came to the open collar at his neck, her breath moist and cool against his skin. She had her fingers pressed between them and moving still, like she was seeking heat.

He had this strange flash of arousal that burned his mind clear, made him sit up straighter.

"Kate," he rasped, angling his arm so that he could bury his fingers in her hair. He couldn't exactly feel its softness, its strands like silk, but the sense memory remained like a ghost, lingering in his fingertips.

She hummed something at his neck and her lips were ragged as they scraped out an answer.

"Kate," he tried again. "Stay awake."

"I am," she grated out. "Awake, I'm awake."

"Don't fall asleep," he warned. He couldn't help burrowing his fingers down the back of her neck, and she jerked when the icy cold of his skin met hers.

"Shit, can't fall asleep if you keep putting your cold hands on me."

He grunted a laugh and then she rocked her hips over his and he groaned. "What are you doing?"

"Sorry, trying - I'm cold. Just - cold."

He buried his face in her hair and squeezed her tighter, as if that could help at all, and she hooked her ankles at his back and rocked into him again.

The frisson of pleasure broke through the numbness around his brain and he sighed out at her ear, his eyeballs aching in their sockets, his lips awkward and tingling.

"Don't fall asleep, either," she warned, squeezing her thighs around him. "Don't you fall asleep, Castle."

He closed his eyes to relieve the ache, felt his body canting into hers.

"Castle," she gritted out. He felt her struggling within the cove of his body. "Castle, come on. Tell me what our story's gonna be. When - when the police open that door. Tell me what our cover is."

He roused, lifting his head from the haven of her neck. It was difficult to move, but he thought it might actually be warmer down here, sharing her body heat. It might actually be warmer.

"Castle. Tell me the story. Come on. Talk to me."

"We have-" His voice ached and he had to clear his throat. It felt like icicles were hanging in his lungs. "We have police ID on us. Police issue weapons. We're - cover. Undercover." He lost the trail of his thought and stuttered to a stop.

"Undercover police officers," she said, her words vibrating at his neck. He felt her hands between them, little blocks of ice, but she moved them to his waist and tucked them into his pants. "Both of us?"

"Yes," he answered finally. "Undercover officers. We - found - we've been with this group for a while. No, wait." He growled to himself and shook his head, tried to make his mind work. "Not both. Me. I'm - undercover. You're my CI. They discovered us, locked us in here."

"I'm your snitch, Castle?" she murmured, and her hands were moving again, restless. He hoped they hurt. If her hands hurt, then she was getting feeling back in her fingers.

"Yes, my informant - you - told me about this - moving shipments of guns. Maybe we suspected drugs too. Refrigerated cars of fish, drugs smuggled inside them."

She let out a little laugh at his adam's apple and he felt her tongue, shivered hard from the sudden kick of arousal. "Drugs inside fish?"

"Get through customs dogs. Can't smell drugs over fish."

"Oh. You do all the talking, ok? You know things. And your French is better."

"Mm," he murmured. "Yes. Right."

"You with me?"

"Yeah," he answered, but truthfully, it was a struggle. His ass was frozen solid, even with her leather jacket under him, and his shoulders ached in their joints. The scar at his back from the knife seemed to pulse like a fresh wound, but it was so good here at her neck, buried in her hair, the dark haze of exhaustion mingling with the scent of her skin.

* * *

She shifted off of him when she realized his legs were numb. She had no idea if it was the cold or sitting cross-legged or having her perched on him like that, but he couldn't afford to have his limbs fall asleep. She wasn't sure the blood would circulate back if it withdrew.

Castle's arms were tight around her shoulders so that she was pressed against his chest; she sat in the vee of his legs on one third of her leather jacket with Castle's coat pulled around her. It wasn't that great a covering, but it created a nice little pocket of body heat that she tried to hang on to.

She'd long stopped being able to move with any degree of accuracy or speed; her arms felt heavy and his kept slipping from her shoulders. Every few seconds, Castle would rouse and readjust, waking them both, but her lashes were crystalized with ice, the air was a blade down to her lungs, and she just - she didn't see lasting too much longer.

"I always-" she began harshly, struggled to clear her throat. But it wouldn't clear; the thick knot stayed. "Always thought I'd get a bullet. In the end. Never. . .so cold."

He grumbled something under her ear; she felt the response more than heard it.

"Just strange," she finished, her leg flinching towards her chest, muscles firing without her conscious effort. "Strange to sleep."

"Don't sleep," he rasped. She felt him shift and the pressure of his arm, but her skin was past numb, her body closing down. "Don't - I'm sorry. Sorry I - got you into this, come be a spy with me-"

"No, no, Castle," she murmured, hushing him with her brittle fingers. Her hand dropped heavy from his mouth, tangled in the material of his shirt. "No. I'm where I want to be."

His cheek landed hard against the top of her head. She knew if she shifted her hand under his shirt her fingers would warm, but she was unable to coordinate the effort. It was dark, and the world was humming with snow, and he was a solid mountain for her to lean into.

"Kate."

"Where I want," she echoed, heard her own voice slushing through the quiet snowfall. "Love you, Castle."

"Love_._"

It was nice. It was softer than a bullet; it gave her the chance to linger.


	14. Chapter 14

**Close Encounters 5**

* * *

The dream shook him, pitched him forward until the body that was curled up into his actually stopped him. Woke him.

"Kate," he rasped.

He could - almost - see her. Her face. Her beautiful face. Almost.

Her eyes were closed.

"Kate."

He drew in an agony of breath, let it out into the swirling, frozen air. He bent his elbow and dragged his hand up to cup her cheek. But he could only manage to stumble at her shoulder.

His body drifted, his mind.

He leaned against the icy side of the boxcar. The relief trembled like snowflakes through his muscles and banked the last of his energy out into nothing.

Kate.

She was stiff against him. She was breaking with cold in his arms and he couldn't even lift his hand to touch her face. One last - one last time, Kate.

This was wrong. A blanket of darkness layered down over him.

But he could do nothing to stop it.

* * *

He woke with a pounding rush of adrenaline and jerked upright; hands pushed him back down.

"Don't move. You've got a case of hypothermia. Sir, please, stay where you are."

The world resolved slowly, pieces fitting back together, and he felt the throbbing in his hands and feet, the ache in his chest.

"Kate. Where's Kate?" And then he remembered and cleared his throat, realized his training had kicked in automatically. He was speaking French; they were speaking French as well. He hadn't - until just this moment - realized what was going on.

"Sir, you need to lie down."

Cover. They had a cover. Stick to the cover.

"I'm a police officer. My-" What was the word? "-informant. Where is she?"

"The woman. Yes. She's in the ambulance next-"

He jerked upright again, pulled the IV out of his arm. "She's under my protection."

A new face was at the back of the ambulance, blocking his way. "You have some ID, sir?"

He groaned and he pushed a hand to his head, pretended he was too rough to immediately respond. He felt for his weapon and realized it'd been confiscated, probably hers as well. The IDs, where. . .

"Here," he grunted, got to his feet on the back bumper of the ambulance. He reached slowly into his inside coat pocket, left his other hand up in surrender. "I'm reaching for my ID. I'm an undercover police officer and the woman is in my protection."

The man at the foot of the ambulance moved back; Castle saw his hand twitch on his weapon, but he didn't draw, didn't seem to be that trigger-happy either. He found the false ID and handed it over.

The man looked at it carefully, inspected it with a detail-oriented eye. Castle let his face reveal nothing, but made a show of looking for the other ambulance.

It wasn't entirely for show. He wanted to get to Kate.

"Seems to be in order," the man hesitated.

"I need to go. I have to get her out of here. She's not safe - neither of us are safe staying here."

"You need medical attention," the paramedic said, reaching forward.

Castle side-stepped him and focused his attention on the officer before him. Regular clothes, scruffy looking, so he'd been called out of bed for this or perhaps had been at the police station for entirely too long.

"I have to get her out of here," he said evenly. "My cover was blown and she helped hide me, protect me. I owe her."

That seemed to do it. The concept of owing a debt struck a chord and the man nodded, let him move past.

Castle felt the catch in his bones as his feet jarred to the pavement. The man fell into step with him. "You guys saw the guns?" Castle asked.

The man gave a cautious nod.

"Drugs too?" he said, trying to be low key in his delivery, not arouse suspicion. Just a good cop reporting what he'd discovered.

The man nodded again, gestured towards the ambulance parked a block down. "She's there. I'd like to ask you a question. Before you go."

Castle paused, his eyes on that ambulance. "Ask away."

"When we found you. . .You are lovers? You love this woman and she loves you and you are both getting out of the undercover business?"

His heart flipped and he turned to look at the man. A romantic then, a French police detective who was a romantic at heart, looking to help out two lovers.

"Yes," he said gravely. It was true - to what extent it could be true at all. They would get out before something got them. They would.

The man nodded. "I can't give you back your weapons. But you are free to go with her. You might want to find a sympathetic doctor at a clinic just opening for the morning. You both have frostbite; you need to massage your toes and fingers, keep the blood flowing. You understand?"

"I understand," he said quietly.

This man thought he'd turned - flipped to the other side when he'd fallen in love with the beautiful informant - that she'd come to his aid despite that and yet they had been caught. . .

And it made such a nice story, that Castle let him continue to believe it.

He opened the back door of the ambulance and there she was.

* * *

She rocked forward but held herself back at the last moment, her eyes burning at the sight of him, her fingers clutching the emergency blanket around her shoulders. But Castle dragged her into his arms and crushed her against his chest and it was okay.

"You're alive," she gasped into his neck. He clutched her tighter and she pulled back only far enough to find his mouth with hers. She was relentless, cupping his face in her miserably-cold hands and shivering as she pushed her tongue inside his mouth.

Graceless, not clever, awkward, but she didn't care. They were alive. She couldn't not touch him; she ached all over and his mouth was doing the job of thawing her out.

He pushed her back with his hands at her blanket-draped shoulders, his mouth slack and his eyes glittering. She felt her body curling towards his, but she straightened up, forced herself to be a professional. Her leather jacket was gone - probably still on the floor of that refrigerated container - and the cold was down in her bones despite the blanket the paramedic had wrapped her in.

He said something in French that she didn't have the wherewithal to catch, let alone translate mentally, but he only drew her down and off the back of the ambulance.

An official-looking man was there and he nodded to her, said something about love or lovers, and she shot a startled look to Castle.

This time when he spoke, her brain kicked in with an adequate translation.

"It's okay," he said simply. "He knows. We're okay."

And then Castle laced their fingers together and she let out a little breath of relief almost automatically, even though she had no idea what story he'd told the detective.

"He's letting us go," Castle said again, his French brisk and colloquial and she was having to strain to follow.

Hypothermia, had to be. She was usually better than this.

She stayed at his side, clutching the blanket crookedly over her shoulders, their hands clasped because it seemed to be expected - whatever story he'd told - and the detective led them past the cordon and back to the sidewalk where scanty onlookers had paused.

A few people looked at them, but Kate kept her eyes down as she and Castle walked away, realized she was still shivering and couldn't stop - might never be warm again, the way it felt.

When they'd gone a few blocks, Castle moved to release her hand, but she wouldn't let go. "I'm cold," she explained. "Can't stop shivering. My fingers are killing me."

"Mine too," he grimaced. "It feels like my bones are made of broken icicles. Sharp and pointy."

"So poetic," she murmured, felt the laugh bubble up in her like hysteria. She clamped her lips shut and Castle pushed her hand into his coat pocket. She wasn't sure she'd make it back to their little apartment with just the emergency blanket; the night wind was brutal and managed to crawl inside her clothes.

"I went with the cover we talked about," he said quietly. "And the detective was suspicious."

"The ID you had didn't-"

"No, it worked. But he couldn't seem to make sense of how we'd gotten locked in that freezer."

She shivered again, her muscles quivering at the joints of her bones. She could feel her teeth chattering still. It was damn cold and she knew half of it was still just in her head, but it didn't seem to make a difference to the ice that enclosed her.

"He asked me if we were going to get out, hide out together. He thought we had to be lovers, and I could tell by the way he carefully didn't say things that he thought I'd betrayed my training when I'd met you."

Beckett let out a long breath, felt the laugh skitter in her lungs. "That's not entirely wrong, is it?" she asked, glancing over at him.

His mouth dropped open in surprise, and then he closed it, shaking his head. But it was true.

She squeezed his hand. "Okay. So he thinks we fell in love inside this criminal organization, and we've escaped now and we're riding off into the sunset?"

He did laugh then, a dry chuckle that made her realize his throat was still raw. She could feel the scrape of his skin at the back of his hand inside his coat pocket. He had damage from the cold then too; they needed to get inside quickly.

"Sounds about right," Castle said then, shrugging. "I don't know about you, but I don't care what he thinks about my loyalties. I just want to crawl into bed with you and be warm again."

"Me too," she said quietly.

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to her, his eyes showing her everything, churning with it like drowning. She knew they were both barely keeping their heads above water.

He wrapped his free arm around her neck and crushed her against him once more. She went, burrowing closer, and tried to erase all memory of the last few hours.

"We're going back to Cyprus," he said gruffly. "It's warm there and I have the villa for another few days. We need a break."

She nodded into his embrace and battled back the sudden urge to cry. "Get me home, Castle."

* * *

He couldn't help it; he felt like his hands were stiff and his bones were brittle with it.

"I'm not a clingy person usually," she said suddenly. Her whole body was draped over his in the hot tub, her knees at his ribs, her cheek rubbing against his. She turned her head and pushed her face into his neck once more, her breathing slow and steady.

"Me either," he sighed. "But I'm - I don't think I can let you go."

He realized she was shivering despite the boiling heat of the water and the sun that pressed down over the back patio. The villa had been a welcome sight this morning when they'd arrived in Cyprus, still in their coats and layers, fingers tangled together as they stood in the doorway. He'd suggested the hot tub and they hadn't moved since.

"This might be dangerous," she murmured.

"It's only been forty minutes," he said back, clutching her a little tighter. But she was right. It couldn't be good for them to stay in the hot tub for much longer. "Okay, let's - I don't know. What's a good motivation to get us out of here?"

"Sex."

He barked a laugh and felt her smiling against him; he trailed his palm up her back and into her hair, kissed her cheek. She shifted and met his mouth, teased her tongue inside, a soft and slow stroke that had him slowly sitting up.

She hooked her ankles at his back and wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned away to look at him. "Castle, I don't know what to say."

"Who needs words?"

She huffed and shook her head at him, the water bubbling around them, the sunlight framing her damp hair and making it shine golden. She pressed her palms against his chest and leaned in to kiss him softly again.

"Kate?"

"It's a lot, Castle. It's just a lot." She pressed her lips together and slid her leg off his lap, stood up in the hot tub. Goose bumps crawled up her skin but she reached for one of the towels at the side and clutched it to her chest as she got out of the tub.

He watched her for a moment, gathering his courage to leave the heated water, and then he followed her out.

"Hey, Kate?" He called after her, rubbing the towel across his chest and shutting the sliding glass door behind him. The sunlight made the whole villa look bright and white and clean, but he felt cold still.

She turned at the stairs with the towel shrugged over her shoulders, the wet ends of her hair curling at her skin. "Rick, I just - I made a lot of mistakes and I'm to blame for how that ended up-"

"I was the idiot who retreated to a refrigerated boxcar," he muttered, wadding the towel up in one hand.

She shook her head. "But you wanted to kill them. I'm the one that can't do this, Rick. I can't - I just can't do this."

He felt it clutch at him, a fist around his lungs, and as she turned to leave for the bedroom, he reached out and grabbed her. "Kate. Please."

"I'm supposed to have your back but I nearly got us killed. We were dead, we were frozen-"

He hooked his arm around her neck and dragged her against him, skin to skin, wet and cold now, but he couldn't let her go. "You didn't, Kate. Not your fault. Your plan worked, it was working, and I should've thought to keep better track of our targets. They shouldn't have sneaked up on us like that."

She shook her head against him like she was going to argue it, but he squeezed her tighter.

"You think my plan would've been any better, Kate? You were there in Copenhagen. Shit happens. It doesn't work like we plan, so we make a new plan."

"Copenhagen nearly killed me," she groaned.

He stiffened and she squeezed his biceps, a strangled laugh coming out of her mouth.

"No, no. I'm sorry. Not - well, yes, literally. But I meant, it was brutal. I thought it couldn't get any worse, those men dying and I keep hearing them scream, the smell of burned flesh, and I just wanted it to be different this time. I just wanted it to be different, Rick."

He let out a breath. "I know. I know, Kate. There's - this is just - this isn't the life I wanted for you."

She stepped back, her eyes dark on his. "I don't know what my life is anymore. I can't be a cop until this thing with Bracken is over, and I make a lousy agent."

He stared at her and she shook her head, pressed a hand into her eye as she turned for the stairs.

He clenched his fists and fought back the urge to grab her again. "Are you - leaving?"

She turned at the top of the stairs, tilting her head at him. "Leaving?"

He hurried up after her, shoved down the irrational need to touch her. "Nothing. Nothing. I just - we're working on Bracken. I swear. This won't be forever, Kate, and I like having you with me. I feel safer when you have my back."

"Even getting us locked into a boxcar?" she muttered.

He couldn't help himself; he had to close his fingers around her wrist for just that one vital connection, feel her pulse pounding under her skin. "We'll figure it out. Go back to doing milk runs."

She shook her head. "Your father said you-"

"Screw him. We can take a break from the intense stuff, the stuff you can't handle."

Her eyes flashed at him. "I'm not saying I can't _handle_ it. I'm saying it's _wrong_, Castle. It's wrong to go from upholding the law to flagrantly violating it. Like there are no rules at all, no values. My parents taught me that the ends _don't_ always justify the means."

He grit his teeth. "Obviously, mine didn't."

She shivered and stepped away from him. "Look. I'm freezing. Let me get dressed before we fight."

He followed her back to the bedroom. "I don't want to fight with you."

She yanked a pair of sweatpants out of the bag, grabbed a clean tshirt after it. He watched for a moment, but she didn't seem to want to talk to him any further. So Castle pulled out his own clothes and stripped out of his trunks, dressed quickly in the silence.

Beckett slid into bed and he stared at her. It was still daylight; it wasn't even-

"Crawl in with me, Rick."

His feet hastened to obey before he could even think about it, one way or another. He was curling in behind her and pressing his body close, and she took his arms and pulled them around her, burrowed back into him.

"I'm just cold," she said finally. "Bone deep. Soul deep cold. I just need a day or so to get warm. And then I'll be fine. I'll be fine. I can handle it. I promise."

He nudged her neck with his nose and drew his legs up behind hers, closed his eyes.

He just wanted to have her. He wouldn't ask for anything more; she could go back to New York or she could demand that he never kill another target again. Whatever she wanted. He just wanted her.

* * *

She stroked his forearm and stayed silent until she felt him finally fall asleep at her back. She didn't move though, because she knew for sure it would wake him. But she relaxed a little more and brought his arm in tighter against her chest.

It wasn't that she didn't love him. That would never be the problem.

It was the cold-blooded assassination of a group of people she knew absolutely nothing about. Supposed terrorists, allegedly in league with this arms dealer Foley whom Castle had put away. And it wasn't that she didn't believe him when he said they were bad people, it was just-

She was trained to think differently.

Her parents - her own mother was a defense lawyer who'd been murdered trying to give an admittedly bad guy the chance to have a fair hearing for the crime he'd been wrongfully found guilty of. Pulgatti had been a mobster - no one denied that - but the thing that sent him to jail wasn't something he'd actually done.

And it wasn't right; it wasn't justice. It meant the real criminal went free, and the system had become cheapened by the way it'd been subverted for someone else's profit. It was supposed to serve the people - all people.

But espionage wasn't serving people. It was setting out blind and in the dark to do the bidding of some master plotter, himself being run by politicians. There wasn't a code or a set of laws, really. There was just murky shadows and sinister, unformed threats that had to be dealt with immediately.

She didn't know if she could do this.

She could handle it; that wasn't it. She could handle whatever they threw at her. She wasn't weak; she wasn't scared or stupid or panicked. She had the intelligence and the capabilities and the fortitude to do what needed to be done.

She just wasn't proud of it. She wasn't settled in it.

None of it sat right with her, and honestly, she was surprised that Castle had given it so little thought before now, so little thought even when they'd entered that building.

He'd gone into spy mode and his eyes had been flat and lifeless and it had squeezed a fist around her heart.

That was the real cold. That was why she couldn't get warm.

And even as he slept at her back, a heavy heat that flushed through her skin, she still didn't know what to do about the ice in her soul that wouldn't crack, wouldn't thaw, no matter how warm she was.

There was no honor in being a spy.

Kate sighed and turned in his embrace so she could see him, trace her fingers at his cheeks, softly, lightly, carefully. He was a beautiful man, deep down as well as handsome. He loved so passionately, had such capacity for tenderness and mercy, gave his love with abandon and joy and selflessness.

She wanted more for him than this.

She wanted him to quit.

Kate buried her face against his shoulder to keep the tears from squeezing out, breathed in raggedly even as her cheeks burned and her throat closed up with it.

She wanted him to stop being a spy and come home with her. For good.

* * *

He woke to an empty bed, a strange noise somewhere at his back, and Beckett shoving on his shoulder.

"Esposito," she said and he jerked upright, realized she'd answered his phone.

She was sitting down now at his hip, her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, like this was his fault. Whatever this was.

"No, he's right here. But why don't you tell me first?" she gritted out.

Ohhhh, ok. So he'd somehow hijacked her boys, her team. Yeah, that was his fault. What could he say? The CIA gadgets and his natural charm had won them over.

Her mouth dropped open and her body stiffened, her hand in a claw at his shoulder. "No. Oh, God. Is he okay?"

Castle's mouth tightened, but Kate pressed her hand over her forehead and hid her eyes from him.

"He - okay. But he's - right. Espo, get a unit on his hospital room, a protective-"

She stopped again and Castle leaned in, pushed his head up next to hers so he could hear. She tilted the phone out towards him and he barely caught Espo's next words.

"Smith's not saying anything. And Gates has to approve everything around here; every piece of paper goes by her desk. There's no way I can get that done."

Castle grabbed for the phone, but Kate pushed him away, held him off with her hand and a shake of her head. "They found Smith at his place - he'd been worked over. He's in the hospital. But it doesn't look good."

He growled. "We're going home then. Right now. Get a move on. Espo," he called out, snatching the phone from Kate before she could put him off. "Espo, call in to Black - Ryan has the number. Give-"

"Dude. Ryan's in the hospital."

"What?" he snarled, jerking his eyes back to Kate. She had her arms wrapped around her torso.

"He came in on whoever it was doing the interrogation. Put up a fight, and I was only five minutes behind. I came in, scared the guy off."

"How is Ryan?" Castle said, his stomach churning at the look on Kate's face.

"He'll make it. Face is banged up. A few broken ribs. Holding him for observation."

"Beckett and I will be there in fifteen hours," he said, already moving towards the suitcase and throwing clothes inside. "Fifteen hours, Espo. Keep watch on Smith yourself, got me?"

"Ryan-"

"Ryan will live. You stay outside Smith's door. You Special Forces guys can do fifteen hour stints, can't you?"

He heard Espo growl and nodded to himself.

"Esposito, don't let it be for nothing. We don't get answers out of Smith, then we lose the progress we've made."

"I got it," Esposito said. "I'm on it."

Castle hung up the phone and turned, waited until Kate met his eyes, and then he tossed it towards her. "Call the CIA help desk. We need a flight."

"But aren't you supposed to do that?"

"Yes. But I don't really care. I have to get this place clean - no trace of we were ever here - and you're my partner. Call and get us a direct flight home."

She had a pinched set to her eyes that he didn't like, but she nodded and entered the number from heart.

He grabbed a ratty tshirt and began wiping down all the flat surfaces, erasing their existence from the villa.

* * *

Kate realized she was clenching her fists so tightly that her nails were making half-moon impressions in her palms. The sting of blood made her gasp and open her fingers to see the damage.

Castle's hand came over hers, his thumb soothing, and the bump of turbulence made him crowd into her for a moment. She gave in to the feeling and pressed her cheek to his shoulder, let him cradle her hand.

This wasn't how she'd wanted to get him home, not at the cost of Ryan's-

"Hey," he murmured. "We're close. We're really close, Kate. It's nearly over."

She wanted to believe that was true, but she wasn't sure she could keep getting her hopes up. She wanted her life back; she wanted her desk at the 12th and her boys following _her_ orders and not doing CIA spywork and getting put in the hospital for it. She wanted to go home at the end of a long day and take a bath and not have to worry about who had followed her or what fingerprints she'd left or if there were cameras watching her even then.

She wanted Castle in her bed and not out here making questionable moral decisions.

But at what price?

Ryan was in the hospital with broken ribs and Smith was near death. There was a file out there somewhere that might have the evidence they needed to take Bracken out once and for all, but she could already sense that the cost would be high.

The cost might be too much for her to bear.

"Kate, I swear. We will get him," he murmured then, his mouth at her temple. "I'll get him. He'll pay for all of this. I promise you."

It wasn't enough, wasn't nearly good enough. She clutched his jacket and pressed her face into his shoulder, closed her eyes.

"But I love you," she said finally. "I just love you."

And that had to be enough.

* * *

so ends **Close Encounters 5: The World Is Not Enough**

stay tuned for **Close Encounters 6: You Only Live Twice**

* * *

The construction site was covered mostly in thick plastic sheeting to keep out the elements; looters had been through at one point and stripped out the copper wiring, leaving gaping holes in the sheetrock. They'd lost their funding midway through the project, if Beckett remembered correctly, and now it languished.

She, Castle and the boys stepped carefully into the remains of the ground floor, mindful of debris, and she pulled the weapon Castle had given her from his own stash. Her service weapon was still in the 12th's safe, but she liked the feel of this one.

Ahead of her, his own Glock drawn, Castle paused and held up his fist for them to stop. She halted at his back and felt her team do the same. Castle jerked his head towards the open doorway and pointed to his eyes and then back to the space beyond.

She nodded and Castle crept forward while her team was in ready. He eased to the doorway and then widened his eyes and held up one finger.

A man. One man.

Beckett turned to her team and they followed at her command; she brought Espo and Ryan into the shadow at Castle's side and they waited for his signal.

Castle framed the door next to her, while her boys were across from them. The hallway led over onto a former ground floor apartment. Beckett sneaked a look, gave it a quick study, and closed her eyes as she pulled back, memorizing the layout.

The man had been kneeling on the floor; he looked familiar - so damn familiar. She wasn't sure from where, but she thought she'd seen him. Either as a suspect in Castle's long briefing when they'd arrived stateside this morning, or attached to Bracken as some kind of security detail.

But either way - there was no doubt he was Bracken's man.

"They bug the hospital room?" Castle murmured in her ear.

She shook her head and shrugged. No way of knowing how this guy had gotten here ahead of them. "Most likely," she mouthed.

He set a grim line and then he held up a hand to the boys - both Esposito and Ryan looked like they were chomping at the bit, but Beckett figured they could let this guy do all the work, nail him when he came out.

Suddenly Castle stiffened and she heard the sound - telltale clicking, like a connection being made - and Castle was hurtling himself towards her.

The explosion punched them both back; Castle landed on top of her with a grunt and his eyes closed, his forehead smashing into her chin. She gripped his shirt even as debris rained down on them. Through the smoke and haze, she saw confetti.

Bright, brilliant lines of numbers and letters and photographs in tiny, parade-like pieces, drifting down over them like snow.

The file.

* * *

**Close Encounters 6** - coming to an alert near you


End file.
